


Meet you up there (where the path runs straight and high)

by bluesweatshirt



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Death, Endgame Fix-It, Fix-It, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Harley Keener is a Good Bro, I'm literally making things up about the Infinity Stones as I go along, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark lives (eventually), i promise this has a happy ending, please read the notes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:06:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28097379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesweatshirt/pseuds/bluesweatshirt
Summary: “So, what—you’re not even going totryto get Tony back?” Peter shouted, furious. “You’re a bunch of cowards!”The effect of his anger was probably diminished by the way his voice cracked tearfully.“I’m sorry, Queens,” Steve said, his expression compassionate. “Tony died so that we could win. We have to respect that.”Peter gritted his teeth and looked away.***Or, an Endgame fix-it fic.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/James "Bucky" Barnes (implied)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 130





	Meet you up there (where the path runs straight and high)

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! A couple of notes before the story:
> 
> First and foremost, this fic does contain character death. I don’t want to say who it is here because it’ll ruin the ending, but I will put the character death in the end notes if you want to check it out before reading. I promise you this story does have a happy ending. Tony does come back to life, and Peter doesn’t die! But yeah, someone else dies in this story. Read the end notes if you want to know who it is ahead of time. I wouldn't say it's a major character death, but I also wouldn't say it's a minor character death. 
> 
> Second of all, this story does contain discussions of characters wanting to sacrifice their lives to bring Tony back to life. I wouldn’t consider this to be suicidal ideation, because these characters don’t want to die; they just really want to bring Tony back. But if reading that kind of material might be triggering to you, this might not be the right fic for you. 
> 
> Also, if there are MCUverse details that are incorrect, please just kindly ignore them. I’m a little fuzzy on the movies and I didn’t have time to rewatch all of them to prepare for this fic. For example, I’m straight up just making stuff up about how the Infinity Stones work to suit my needs. I also changed little things, like Morgan being almost 6 instead of almost 5, May surviving the blip, and Tony and Pepper still owning Stark Tower. Just...overall, please suspend your disbelief :)
> 
> The title comes from the song "Going to California" by Led Zeppelin, a song that I'm absolutely certain Tony would've introduced Peter to at some point.

***

_It’s been very rare to have known you, very strange and wonderful._

_-F. Scott Fitzgerald_

***

“But...we could do it again!” Peter argued, crossing his arms in frustration. “We could go back and save him!”

The assembled Avengers exchanged glances with one another, each of them seeming to say _no, **you** tell the kid the bad news. _

In the end, it was Steve Rogers who did it. 

“Look, Peter,” he explained gently. “I thought about that too. But like Dr. Strange said, there was only one single path that ended with us winning, and this was that outcome. If we go back—”

“But we wouldn’t change anything! Someone else could wield the gauntlet. Hell, I could do it, I’ve got radioactive powers,” Peter babbled. 

Steve shook his head grimly. “Even small changes could drastically affect the outcome of the battle. If we went back in time and tried to do it again, and somebody sneezed at the wrong time, it could change everything. Thanos would survive.”

“So, what—you’re not even going to _try_ to get Tony back?” Peter shouted, furious. “You’re a bunch of cowards!” 

The effect of his anger was probably diminished by the way his voice cracked tearfully. 

“I’m sorry, Queens,” Steve said, his expression compassionate. “Tony died so that we could win. We have to respect that.”

Peter gritted his teeth and looked away. 

***

There had been a fire once. 

It happened a month or two before the fateful MOMA field trip, when he was swinging home, done with his patrol for the night. He had been thinking about the Spanish test scheduled for the following day, and he hadn’t packed enough web fluid. He smelled the smoke from nearly a mile away.

He saved a teenager, but he’d been too late to save the boy’s mother. 

Before he knew it, he was standing on the roof of the Tower, not sure how he’d gotten there. Karen was talking in his ear, telling him that Mr. Stark was waiting for him in the penthouse. Peter continued to stand on the ledge of the roof, staring blankly into the darkness, until Mr. Stark found him. 

“Pete,” Mr. Stark called, something tight in his voice. “Get down from there.”

Peter turned around and Mr. Stark’s arm shot out and grabbed onto him, as though he was afraid that Peter might go toppling off the building. 

Peter blinked in surprise, allowing Mr. Stark to pull him off the ledge. “I wasn’t going to jump,” he said. 

“Okay, well, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t accidentally fall either.”

Peter was too lost to think of a witty comeback. He remained silent and allowed Mr. Stark to steer him into the penthouse and down to Peter’s guest room.

“Shower first, then food. Okay, Spider-Kid?”

Peter shrugged, but he didn’t protest when Mr. Stark directed him to the bathroom. 

“I’m going to order us some tacos. Tell FRIDAY if you need anything, okay?”

Peter shrugged again.

Mr. Stark knocked on the bathroom door an indeterminable amount of time later, and when Peter didn’t answer after the third try, he tentatively cracked the door open. 

Peter was sitting on the rug next to the shower, staring straight ahead sightlessly. He hadn’t moved in half an hour. The burns on his hands and arms were beginning to heal, but all he could smell and taste was smoke and ash and burning flesh.

“Hey, kid,” Mr. Stark said, his voice quiet. “Come on, shower time.”

That was something Peter appreciated about Tony Stark. Sometimes, he just took charge and told Peter what to do. Some days, Peter was so tired of trying to be independent, of trying to make all the right decisions on his own. 

Peter slowly lifted his eyes to meet his mentor’s gaze, wearily pressing the spider on his chest to make the suit retract. That single act seemed to sap all his remaining energy. 

Mr. Stark clapped him on the shoulder, stepping around him to fiddle with the shower settings. It should have been awkward but it wasn’t. Peter numbly undressed down to his boxers and stepped into the warm spray.

Before Mr. Stark left, he grabbed the bottle of shampoo and wordlessly squeezed some onto his palm. Peter jerked in surprise when Mr. Stark reached into the shower and began to wash Peter’s hair, gently scrubbing at his scalp until the water ran red and brown. 

Peter caught himself thinking that this was something that Ben would’ve done, if he’d lived to see Peter’s Spider-Man days. 

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” he mumbled quietly, thinking of all the other urgent things that were probably waiting for Mr. Stark—SI business, the Accords, the other Avengers—and here he was on a Tuesday night, his t-shirt getting soaked by the spray of the shower, all for Peter’s benefit.

“Pete, I’m washing your hair right now. I think we’re at the point where you can call me Tony.”

(This wasn’t the first time that Mr. Stark had tried to get him to use the name Tony. It wouldn’t be until Mr. Stark was dying that the name would finally fall from his lips, unbidden, and by then it was too late, anyway.)

Peter just shrugged, unable to speak further. 

Mr. Stark left the bathroom to find him some clean clothes and Peter finished up his shower and got dressed. He curled up in his usual spot on the couch and mechanically ate his way through 7 tacos. 

“I want to bandage that burn so it doesn’t get infected,” Mr. Stark said, grabbing a first aid kit and indicating a nasty blister on Peter’s left wrist. 

Peter obediently held out his wrist, too tired for his usual arguments that he was fine and didn’t need medical attention. 

But Mr. Stark’s expression was so serious and careful as he rubbed antibiotic ointment on the burn that Peter felt his stomach tighten with guilt.

“Leave it, Mr. Stark,” he whispered, suddenly close to tears. “I deserve it. It was my fault—I was careless and I didn’t pack enough web fluid. If I had, I could have—I could have gotten to her on time—”

Mr. Stark’s fingers were closed around Peter’s hand so that he could hold it steady to apply a bandage. His thumb started to rub small circles against Peter’s palm. The simple act was his undoing. 

“Now s-some poor kid doesn’t have his mom because of me. And it’s all my f-fault, just like...just like Ben.”

Mr. Stark froze. Peter rarely talked about Ben with anyone except Aunt May, but he could never bring himself to admit to her that he felt responsible for Ben’s death. 

“Peter,” Mr. Stark said, his voice sharp. “I don’t want to ever hear you take responsibility for things that aren’t your fault again. That apartment was on fire because the landlord didn’t follow the building codes or because someone was being an idiot while cooking, not because of you. And...look, your Aunt May told me what happened to your uncle, and you certainly weren’t the one to pull out a gun during a mugging—”

“But it was my fault that Ben was out that night! He was looking for _me,_ Mr. Stark.”

“Look, kid,” Mr. Stark shook his head. “You told me when I first met you that if you can stop bad things from happening, then you have a responsibility to do so. That still doesn’t mean that you are responsible for the bad things in the first place.”

He said this with such conviction that Peter almost believed it. He _wanted_ to believe it. He was so tired of remembering Ben with fear and anxiety, of dreaming that Ben was angry with him for causing his death. He missed the happy memories that he had with his uncle - the trips to the beach, the movie nights, the car rides to and from school. 

“I miss him, Mr. Stark,” Peter whispered, and to his horror, a tear slipped down his cheek. “I really miss him.”

The thumb pressed against his hand resumed its small circles. 

“I know you do, bud,” Mr. Stark said. “I know.”

(After everything was over and Thanos was gone, everyone communed at Stark Tower. Peter reunited with May, who had survived the Snap, but quickly excused himself to take a shower. 

He couldn’t get over the fact that it had been five years, but it felt like only a few hours. Peter was confused and utterly overwhelmed, but he was also sweaty and dirty from his trip to space. Showering felt much easier than trying to comprehend the Snap—or the blip, or whatever the hell they were calling it.

His mind was blank as he stripped out of his suit—the one that Mr. Stark made for him, _oh god,_ he was never going to see Mr. Stark again—Mr. Stark—Mr. Stark—

His mind was like a skipping CD, stuck on that one line. 

This time, there was nobody there to make sure the water was warm and to wash the blood and ash out of Peter’s hair. 

“FRIDAY,” Peter gasped, suddenly dropping to the floor of the shower, wrapping his arms around his knees. “Initiate soundproofing.”

When he was certain that the AI had soundproofed Peter’s suite, Peter began to cry, quiet sobs that gradually crescendoed into the loud keening of an injured animal or a frightened child. 

He thought about the end of _Harry Potter and_ _the Order of the Phoenix,_ Harry destroying Dumbledore’s office and screaming. 

_I've had enough, I've seen enough, I want out, I want it to end, I don't care anymore!_

The water ran red and Peter didn’t wash his hair.)

***

He couldn’t decide if it was better to be the one to die or the one who was left behind. 

Everyone who had remained after the Snap seemed so old and weary, so worn by the events of the past five years that Peter was deeply grateful that he hadn’t had to live through the experience of losing half of his friends and family.

At the same time, however, he had missed _so much_ by being dead. He had missed May dating Happy. He had missed Flash apparently growing into a semi-decent human being. (He found a long and emotional email in his inbox from two years ago where Flash wrote that he was sorry for bullying Peter and that he wished he could take it all back.) 

Most of all, he had missed _Morgan—_ her birth, her first smile, her first steps, her first words. 

Morgan was one of the only things that kept him going after Mr. Stark’s death. Kids grieved differently; Peter knew that from firsthand experience. Morgan was sad and she missed her dad every single day, but she still wanted to play. She still needed to be loved and looked after. 

Still, Peter was rather startled when, after Mr. Stark’s funeral, Morgan marched up to him, grabbed his hand, and dragged him over to the little tent where she kept her toys and stuffed animals. 

He watched in bewilderment as she wordlessly disappeared into her tent, rummaging around. It was surreal when this little girl with Tony’s dark hair and Tony’s exact eyes stuck her head back out of the tent, clutching a stuffed penguin. 

“This is Bartholomew,” she announced seriously. “You can play with him.”

“Er—thank you,” Peter blinked, accepting the stuffed animal. “Hi, by the way. I’m Peter.”

Morgan narrowed her eyes at him as if he were being particularly dense. It was such a Tony expression that Peter’s throat tightened and for a second he couldn’t breathe. 

“Obviously,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Anyway, I’m going to be Princess Seraphina.” She showed him another stuffed animal, a frog with a ballerina outfit and a crown. 

“Okay,” Peter said slowly. “Hey, uh, you know who I am?”

Morgan nodded, carefully fixing the ballerina frog’s crown. “Yep. There’s a picture of you in the kitchen. And Daddy told me all about you.”

“He did? What did he say?”

Morgan shrugged. “He told me all about Spider-Man. And about how you’re my big brother, but you had to go away.”

She said it so nonchalantly, but it felt like a kick to the gut. _You’re my big brother._ Tony had said that. Tony had told her about him, about Peter and about Spider-Man. He hadn’t said uncle or friend. He’d said that Peter was Morgan’s _brother._ Like Peter was—like he was Tony’s—

“Well,” Morgan said, looking up at him curiously. “Aren’t you going to play with Bartholomew? He has to come rescue Princess Seraphina from the evil wizard!”

It felt like one final gift from Tony. Someone who needed Peter. Someone Peter could take care of, someone to distract him from the gnawing hole in his chest. 

Was this how May had felt about him after Ben’s death?

“Oh, yeah, of course. But Bartholomew got hit by the evil wizard’s curse, and now he can only walk upside down and sing opera!” Peter made the penguin mime walking upside down on the roof of the tent, singing in a horrible falsetto. 

He was rewarded with a blinding grin and a giggle from Morgan. The knot of grief loosened slightly.

***

There was a boy at the funeral. 

He was about Peter’s age, sharp-eyed and a few inches taller than Peter. 

After Morgan returned to her mom’s side, Peter wandered down to the dock. He didn’t want to stand awkwardly on the fringes of the funeral, watching everyone try to contain their grief with composed smiles. 

The sun was beginning to sink behind the horizon. Peter was cold, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Mr. Stark knew that Peter couldn’t thermoregulate; if he were here, he’d make sure Peter had a warmer jacket on—

“You’re Peter,” a voice said from behind him. The boy.

“You’re the second person who’s guessed that today,” Peter said, trying for a grin but failing. 

“It wasn’t a guess; I knew. Tony told me about you.”

It clicked then—Extremis. Peter had broken his arm on patrol once and had been confined to MedBay for the night. To pass the time, Tony told him about the Mandarin incident. 

“You’re Harley Keener!”

Harley grinned, dropping to sit next to Peter. “In the flesh.”

For the first time since Tony died, Peter felt the familiar flash of excitement in his gut that he got whenever he met somebody who had helped save the world. 

It faded quickly when he remembered why he and Harley were meeting now. 

“So this sucks ass,” Harley said, mirroring Peter’s thoughts. “I always knew we were going to meet, but I thought it would be during some epic lab weekend, and we’d terrify Tony with our combined genius.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “At least we’re both closer in line to inherit Stark Industries now.”

Peter blinked at him, startled.

Harley nudged his shoulder. “I’m joking, Parker, relax. Did Tony forget to mention that I’m a huge asshole?” He laughed, but the expression in his eyes was hollow.

Peter tried to smile. “I believe his exact words were ‘impressively dickish for an 11-year-old.’”

“Yeah, and the way he described you was ‘about as terrifying as a fruit bat.’”

“Rude,” Peter protested. “I’d like to think I’m at least as frightening as an eastern small-footed myotis.”

Harley blinked at him. “Tony was right. You are a fucking nerd.”

“Yeah, and Tony was right about you too. You are a huge dick.”

They grinned at each other and exchanged cell phone numbers so that they could keep in touch when Harley returned to Tennessee. 

By that point, darkness had truly fallen. Pepper came down to the dock to usher them inside. She wrapped an arm around Peter’s shoulder, but Harley hung back. 

There was something at once very aloof and very vulnerable about him. 

He reminded Peter of Tony in that way. 

***

_HK: Hey, Parker, it’s me. You know, your future MIT roommate._

_PP: And they were roommates!_

_HK: Oh my god, they were roommates._

_***_

Peter didn’t understand how Pepper could still allow him in her house and in her life.

Everyone had snapped back into existence in early January, and schools had shut down for the rest of the academic year to give everyone time to find housing, reunite with their families, and adjust and heal from the past five years. 

This left Peter with months of unstructured time ahead of him and nowhere to be.

He spent most of his days at the lake house so that he could be close to Morgan. He’d overheard Pepper and May having a whispered conversation about this arrangement. Both of them agreed that it “was good for Peter and Morgan to spend time together.”

Every Friday, Happy picked him up and drove him back to the city. He spent the weekend with May, patrolled in Queens and hung out with Ned and MJ, and got a ride back to the lake house on Sunday nights from May, who sometimes stayed over. 

Everyone seemed happy with this arrangement, but Peter still felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Ms. Potts—who was now Mrs. Stark but was still Ms. Potts in his head—to reach the end of her rope and rightfully blame him for Tony’s death. 

Clint was the one who told Peter that his memory had been responsible for Tony deciding to reverse the Snap. He knew that Clint was a father to three kids of his own; that Clint had probably told Peter about this so that he would know that Mr. Stark had cared enough about his protégé to undertake such a dangerous mission on his behalf.

He also knew that Rhodey and Steve Rogers hadn’t wanted him to know. They’d exchanged glances and winced when Clint had told Peter, perhaps because they understood Peter better and knew that he would take the news less as proof that Tony had cared about him and more as a reason that he should be blaming himself for Tony’s death. 

Rhodey and Steve were right. 

And surely Ms. Potts knew that Mr. Stark had allowed himself to get mixed up in time travel and the gauntlet to save Peter. 

She was unfailingly kind to him, and it was amazing that she encouraged his budding bond with Morgan, but he still stayed an arm’s length away from her at all times, never fully allowing his shoulders to relax in her presence or his words to flow freely. He tried to stay small and harmless whenever he was at the lake house, always tidying up and volunteering to babysit. 

_Please don’t send me away, Ms. Potts,_ he wanted to beg sometimes. _This is the only place where I still feel close to him._

Peter knew it was risky to keep sneaking down to Mr. Stark’s lab at night for this exact reason. If Ms. Potts found out that Peter was messing with Mr. Stark’s things and invading her dead husband’s space, surely it would be the final straw. 

But Peter couldn’t sleep. 

His sleep had been blissfully dreamless for the first few weeks after his return from Titan. He’d woken up frequently throughout the night with a sense of dread and anxiety, but his actual sleep had been uninterrupted by nightmares. 

That changed by the end of the first month. He began to revisit every bad thing that had ever happened to him—Ben’s death, the building falling on him, the agony of turning to dust. Tony and Ben frequently appeared in these dreams, and they were both angry with Peter. 

_We died for you! And for what? There’s no way your life could measure up to either of our lives._

_After you let Ben die, you really thought you deserved another father figure?_

He’d wake up, gasping and crying and wishing so hard that he felt like his atoms might break apart that he would look up and see Mr. Stark’s familiar silhouette in the doorway and hear his familiar voice, raspy with sleep.

_You okay, Pete? Nightmare?_

The first time he snuck down to the lake house’s lab, his only intention was to disable the alerts that were set up on FRIDAY. The last thing he wanted was for FRIDAY to wake up Ms. Potts and tell her that Peter was having nightmares. He planned to get in and get out as quickly as possible so that Ms. Potts wouldn’t know he’d been down there and so that he wouldn’t have to actually look around and think about where he was. 

He’d desperately tried not to think about the fact that Tony had set up Peter’s guest room at the lake house with the same health and safety monitoring protocols that had been in place at the compound and the Tower. He tried not to think about the fact that the lab door automatically opened for him when he placed his palm on the door, recognizing his fingerprints, as if Tony had been certain that Peter would be here one day.

He stepped into the lab and felt his heart stop. The familiar smells of coffee, motor oil, and a hint of cologne almost brought him to his knees. He was assaulted by a sudden wave of memories—he and Tony sprinting around the lab at the compound during a mock lightsaber duel. The time they’d stayed up all night trying to make a modification to Peter’s suit and had both fallen asleep at the lab bench. Endless nights of coffee for Mr. Stark and pizza for Peter, their heads bent close together over the wiring of Rhodey’s suit or Peter’s web shooters. 

He pulled up FRIDAY’S programming and quickly disabled the alerts for his bedroom. 

He turned to leave the lab, but his feet guided him over to the couch instead. An old MIT sweatshirt was crumpled next to a fleece blanket, and Peter was drawn to it like a moth to flame. 

Before he could stop himself, he pulled it over his head, allowing Mr. Stark’s scent to wrap around him like an embrace. 

He needed to get up and go upstairs—he needed to get up and go upstairs—he needed to—

Peter was asleep in seconds. 

***

_HK: What do you know about this quantum realm stuff?_

_PP: idk i was blipped when they were figuring it all out, but basically the Avengers went back in time and took all the Infinity Stones to make a different version of the Infinity gauntlet_

_HK: Where are the stones now?_

_PP: …_

_PP: Why do you ask?_

_PP: Omg please don’t steal them and take over the universe_

_PP: Let’s at least finish our bachelor’s degrees before we attempt world domination_

_PP: ...If any SHIELD agents are reading this text thread, that was a JOKE._

_PP: Harley?_

***

Peter had watched _The Land Before Time_ once as a kid, and he didn’t remember much of the plot, but he knew that he had loved it because it was about dinosaurs. That was why he made the mistake of suggesting it one night when he was babysitting Morgan. 

It had been about a month since Tony’s death, and Peter and May had finally convinced Pepper to take a night off and go out for a breath of fresh air. After much protesting on Pepper’s part, May had dragged her to the nearby town to get pedicures and drink mojitos, and Peter was watching Morgan. 

About fifteen minutes into the movie, Peter realized that he had made a serious miscalculation. He watched with rising alarm as Little Foot’s mother died trying to save him from a tyrannosaurus rex attack. 

He was horrified to see that Morgan was crying, and even more horrified to realize that he was _also_ crying. 

“Sorry, Morgie!” He exclaimed nervously, jumping to his feet. He hadn’t remembered this part, because he’d seen this movie before his parents died. It hadn’t meant much to him at the time, but now—

“I miss Daddy,” Morgan whispered tremulously, sounding far too old for a 5-year-old. 

Peter’s heart clenched. “I know, Morgs, I know, here, just let me turn this off and we can watch something else; we can watch _Emperor’s New Groove—"_

“No!” Morgan shouted. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him defiantly. “I want to see what happens next, Petey.”

“I really think we should just watch something else—”

Morgan let out a frustrated wail. “You’re acting like Mommy! I know Daddy is dead. He’s never coming back and I want to watch the movie!”

Peter froze. He had never thought about being a big brother before he met Morgan. He knew that he wasn’t very good at it so far, since he spent a significant portion of his time these days just trying not to burst into tears, and during his first attempt at babysitting he had made his little sister watch a movie about dead parents. 

But he also knew that he understood Morgan pretty well.

And maybe...maybe Morgan didn’t want to watch a happy movie. Maybe Morgan wanted to watch a movie where somebody else lost their parents and was sad about it. Maybe she didn’t want to watch _Emperor’s New Groove,_ where everybody lived and was silly and happy at the end. 

He turned away from the TV. “Okay, Morgie,” he said slowly. “We’ll keep watching. But you let me know if it’s too sad, and we’ll turn it off, okay?”

Morgan nodded. Within ten minutes, she was giggling at the dinosaurs’ antics as they tried to find their way to the Great Valley. 

Peter watched her nervously when the movie came to an end. Little Foot and his friends were reunited with their families. Little Foot’s mother was gone, but he found his grandparents and was going to live happily ever after with them. 

“Oh,” Morgan said softly when the credits rolled. “I was hoping he was going to get to the Great Valley and see his mom there.”

“Yeah,” Peter agreed. “Me too.” 

She curled into his side, and that was how Pepper found them an hour later.

***

Peter visited the Tower a few times a month for training with the Avengers. They were still rebuilding the compound, so the Avengers had moved back into the old Stark Industries building. 

“Nice work, Queens!” Steve called as he sparred with Peter. 

Peter didn’t reply; he just ducked his chin and kept on fighting, spinning around with a well-aimed kick to Steve’s jaw. 

Steve managed to duck and evade him at the last second, but he could see that it had been a close call. 

“Keep those elbows tucked, kid,” Sam Wilson called from the sidelines. 

Peter obediently tucked his elbows in and silently advanced again.

Over Steve’s shoulder, he saw Clint and Rhodey exchange a look. 

Peter knew that if he wanted them to think he was okay, he needed to talk more. Peter _always_ talked while he was fighting. It was one of the things everyone ribbed him for, but it helped him keep his focus and direct his nervous energy. 

Plus, it annoyed a lot of criminals. 

Nowadays, he fought silently. 

His second of tuning into Clint and Rhodey’s reactions cost him. Steve landed a light jab on his ribs. 

Peter used his agility to leap up and stick to the ceiling of the gym, swinging his legs so that he could smash Steve’s nose with his knee. 

He managed to pull back at the last second, since they were just sparring, but a small part of him was tempted to follow through. It was the part of him that remembered the dark bruises Mr. Stark had come back from Siberia with. 

He could claim it was an accident, after all. They would all understand. 

He felt horrible the second that the thought crossed his mind, and he knew that he needed to tap out of the fight. 

“Truce,” he called, swinging gracefully down from the ceiling. 

Bucky waited patiently behind Steve with a water bottle. The two of them were practically attached at the hip nowadays. “Good fight, Peter,” Steve said, grinning at him and patting him on the shoulder. 

Peter wanted to hate the guy, but he couldn’t quite manage it. 

***

After dinner, the team all drifted apart to complete whatever tasks and hobbies they wanted. 

Rhodey and Bucky said goodnight and disappeared into their respective rooms, while Clint and Scott roped Wanda into a Mario Kart tournament. 

Peter grabbed a book from his backpack and curled up in the study to read while he waited for Happy to come pick him up and drive him to May’s apartment for the next few days. 

He’d found the book in Tony’s lab and had grabbed it out of curiosity when he was packing for the weekend. It wasn’t like Tony to read much, let alone to read physical books. It was a cheap paperback called _The Road,_ well-worn and dog-eared and written by somebody named Cormac McCarthy. Tony must have read it often, but Peter couldn’t remember ever seeing it in the lab before the snap. 

Now, as he curled up on the sofa in the study, bathed in warm lamplight, he slowly opened the book to the first page. Tony had turned these pages and read these words over and over again. Whatever message this book conveyed, Tony had carried it with him. Feeling almost reverent, he brushed his fingers against the first page and began to read:

_Chapter 1_

_When he awoke in the woods in the dark and the cold of the night he’d reach out to touch the child sleeping beside him. Nights dark beyond darkness and the days more gray each one than what had gone before. Like the onset of some cold glaucoma dimming away the world. His hand rose and fell softly with each precious breath._

Peter quickly got absorbed in the story. It was about a father and son, because of _course_ it was. They were living through the aftermath of the apocalypse, and the father was trying to get his son to safety and a warm climate, all while they were freezing and running out of food and trying to evade evil cannibals. They walked along the road together every day, pushing their belongings in a shopping cart and barely clinging to life. 

Peter would read a few pages and then look away, feeling his sadness wrapping around him like a physical thing, so thick and suffocating that he almost couldn’t breathe. But every time he tried to set the book aside, something about it drew him back in. 

He went on this way for about an hour, and was almost grateful when voices outside on the balcony interrupted his concentration. He carefully marked his page and returned the book to his backpack. 

He didn’t like to use his enhanced hearing to spy on people, but the harsh tones drew him in. It was Bruce and Sam and Steve whispering tensely to one another. 

“I finished the machine last week. I don’t understand why we’re waiting. Steve, you need to return the Stones before something happens to them!” That was Bruce’s voice. 

Peter sat up straighter, thinking about Harley’s text messages about the quantum realm. 

“I know, Bruce,” Steve sighed. “I’ll do it...I just...I need a few months. Just to recover from all of this. I swear, I’ll do it then.”

Peter frowned to himself. Steve sounded...strange. After all, Captain America was known for being the most dependable human being alive. Not that Peter really knew the guy at all, but he knew that it wasn’t normal for Steve Rogers to sound nervous. Or to procrastinate on fulfilling his duties. 

“Steve, it has to be done soon. If the Stones fall into the wrong hands, it’ll be Thanos all over again. But maybe even worse. Who knows?” Sam said urgently. 

“I know, Sam. All I ask is for a few more weeks. I understand that it’s time-sensitive.”

Sam sounded like he was being careful when he spoke next. “Look, Steve, I don’t blame you for being tired. We’ve all been through hell. I know it hasn’t been easy with Tony and Nat’s deaths. Why don’t you just rest, like you want to? I’ll take the Stones back in time and put them back where they belong.”

“No,” Steve said firmly. “I’m going to do it.”

Peter had to stop listening then, because Happy was calling his phone and telling him to come outside.

***

Peter sat in the back of Happy’s car and stared out the window. 

He looked down at the text message he’d been drafting. He really hoped he wasn’t making a mistake. He knew that it was a terrible idea to encourage whatever thoughts Harley was having about the Stones, but he couldn’t deny the spark of niggling curiosity he felt about the Stones’ potential. 

“What’s going on back there, kid? A quiet Spider-Kid is a frightening Spider-Kid.”

Peter met Happy’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “Aw, Happy, you’re frightened of me? I’m honored.”

Happy rolled his eyes. “No, I’m frightened of whatever expensive mess you’re going to cause with your plotting and scheming.”

Peter let out a laugh. “Don’t worry, I’m not scheming or plotting.” 

He told himself that this was just a harmless white lie.

“Then what gives, kid?”

He sighed. “I dreamed of training with the Avengers for my entire life. But now...I’m angry at them, Happy.”

Even though he knew it was unfair, he was angry with them for letting Tony die, for guiding him down the path towards the quantum realm in the first place. 

Why was Tony always the one who had to make the sacrifice?

“I know, kid,” Happy said. “But they weren’t responsible for Tony wielding the gauntlet. As soon as it became clear that there was a possibility Tony could bring you back, there was never anything that was going to stand in his way.”

“So...it’s not the Avengers fault, then, it’s just my fault,” Peter surmised grimly. “Great.” He let his head thunk against the cool glass of the window, even though he knew Happy hated when he did that. 

“That’s not what I’m saying. It’s nobody’s fault.”

“Then...what do I do, Happy? How do I stop feeling so angry?”

Happy was quiet for a moment. “Look, you know I have no clue how to give advice about this kind of stuff. But...I think it’s okay to feel angry. Just don’t let it turn you bitter. Do whatever you can to make the situation bearable for yourself.”

“That was actually pretty good advice, Happy,” Peter mused. “Thanks.” 

He sat up a little straighter and he felt more certain when he looked back down at his phone again. 

_Do whatever you can to make the situation bearable for yourself._

He pressed the send button and leaned his head back on the window, watching raindrops race down the glass. 

***

_PP: Avengers still have the Stones. Not sure where they’re keeping them atm. BB rebuilt quantum realm transporter. SR is going to return them to the past in a month or two._

_***_

He hated being in the city now.

He still wanted to make sure that he was there for the people of Queens. His home needed him, now more than ever. With so many people returning from the blip, pandemonium and chaos reigned freely in the city. Petty criminals were taking advantage of the widespread shock and confusion to get away with muggings and robberies. Terrified New Yorkers were going door-to-door and business-to-business, desperately searching for family members. Hungry people who didn’t have jobs because they’d been dead for five years were rifling through dumpsters and shoplifting from convenience stores. 

He supposed that an insane event like the disappearance of half of the global population brought out both the worst and the best in humanity. 

Peter tried to sort out who was committing crimes because they needed help, and who was simply taking advantage of the situation. He webbed up the criminals and sent the rest to the shelters and relief stations scattered throughout the city. Pepper had made sure that Stark Industries was contributing substantial funding to the recovery efforts, and May had gotten a new job at a relief center just a few blocks away from their apartment building. 

There was less stopping violent crime on his patrols, and more just—helping. Sitting on a park bench and listening to an old woman cry because she’d returned from the blip and found that her husband had died of a heart attack while she was gone. Finding a two-year-old girl who reminded him way too much of Morgan wandering alone in the middle of the street. Turning on his suit’s external heater and swinging her to the nearest shelter while she giggled, not understanding that she had been gone for five years and that someone was probably desperately looking for her. 

Mostly, he spent his patrol time just trying to avoid looking at the Iron Man murals and tributes that littered the city.

“How was patrol, baby?” May asked with a bright smile one evening as he clambered into the apartment through the kitchen window. He could’ve easily entered through his own bedroom window, but he liked to drop into the kitchen unannounced, because it never phased May but it always terrified Happy. 

“Holy _shit,_ kid, I told you to stop doing that!” Happy gasped, clutching his chest. 

Peter grinned. “I brought churros,” he said, handing the first one to Happy as a peace offering. He collapsed in between the two of them, settling comfortably into the couch cushions. May put an arm around his shoulders, and Happy gave him a once-over, looking for injuries. 

This whole thing was new—the two of them being together, Happy being here in this apartment. But it was _good._ May smiled more, especially when Peter was here at the apartment or when she watched him playing with Morgan at the lake house. Happy was different from Ben in a lot of ways - he was gruffer and more pessimistic, certainly. But behind his grumpy exterior, he had the same bone-deep loyalty and earnestness as Ben. 

He made May happy, and May hadn’t tried to change who she was for him. She was still her weird, beautiful, amazing self, only now, she wasn’t alone. 

“You staying for dinner, Peter?” May asked. “I made meatloaf!”

Happy gave Peter a subtle look, shaking his head. Peter choked back a laugh. Some things never changed, and May’s cooking was one of them. 

“Oh, sorry, May—I’d love to try it, but I’m going out for dinner with Ned and MJ. I just came by to change and to say hi first.”

“Okay, well, don’t stay out too late, honey. You might not have school right now, but your old aunt doesn’t want to wake up to the sound of shattering glass in the middle of the night again-”

“Hey! That was one time!” Peter protested. He had been so tired coming back from patrol once that he’d swung right into his closed bedroom window. 

It hadn’t been his finest moment.

“You’re just like Tony. He broke so many penthouse windows with his suits—” Happy seemed to realize what he’d just said, his sentence dying off abruptly. 

They were all silent for a long moment. 

“I’m going to go change,” Peter announced hastily, trying to control his breathing. 

He practically ran to his bedroom, shutting his door and leaning against it for a long moment. 

It wasn’t Happy’s fault. Mr. Stark deserved to be remembered. He would’ve hated to know that Peter ran away and lost his shit every time the older man’s name was even mentioned. But it was just...too much, too soon.

He quickly changed out of his suit and into jeans and a t-shirt, not allowing himself to look around much. He loved visiting May, but there were ghosts in his room.

Ben, standing in the doorway. 

_School just called—it’s a snow day!_ _Want to go ice skating at the park?_

Mr. Stark, a faded bruise under his eye, sitting on Peter’s bed. 

_I gotta know, what’s your MO? What gets you out of that twin bed in the morning?_

Peter’s dad, coming to pick him up from a sleepover at Ben and May’s. 

_Hey, Petey—did you have fun last night? I hope my useless brother fed you at least one vegetable while you were here!_

Ben, carefully balancing a bowl of soup and a portable DVD player. 

_I’m sorry you don’t feel well, buddy—want to watch Star Wars?_

Mr. Stark dropping him off after a patrol that ended poorly, dragging the desk chair next to Peter’s bed. 

_Get some sleep, Pete. I’m going to stick around for a while and monitor that concussion, okay?_

They were gone now, all of them. Three men who would never see Peter go to college or get married or have his own children. 

There was a tap on the door. “I’m sorry, Peter,” Happy called. “You okay?”

Peter let out a shaky exhale, opening his door. “Yeah, Happy—don’t worry about it, really. I’m fine.” He tried to smile reassuringly, but he wasn’t sure if it was successful based on Happy’s concerned expression. 

He quickly stepped out of his room and closed the door behind him. Given Peter’s track record with dead father figures, it was probably safest if Happy didn’t go in there too. 

***

The green glow of the digital clock next to Peter’s bed read the time _3:12 AM._

Peter answered his phone, still half-asleep. 

“Wha’?” He mumbled. “‘M sleeping.”

“Well, wake up, Parker,” Harley said matter-of-factly on the other end. 

“Keener?” He groaned, scrubbing at his eyes to wake himself up. “This better be an emergency, man.”

“I’ve been thinking—”

“Uh-oh, that’s not good.”

“—we could get him back, Peter.”

Peter was silent.

“There must be a way, with Dr. Banner’s transporter.”

Peter sighed. “I...I don’t think that’s a good idea, Harley. Dr. Strange was able to see millions of different possibilities for the confrontation with Thanos, and only one of them was correct. We found the correct one, and if we went back and changed things, Thanos would survive.”

“That’s just what all the adults are telling you so you don’t go messing around with the quantum realm, Peter,” Harley scoffed, reminding Peter of Tony in his stubbornness. “We’re both just as smart as Tony was; I’m sure we can figure it out together.”

But Peter had been thinking about this same idea all week, ever since he overheard the Avengers talking about returning the Stones, and it made him uneasy. “I think we need to think about this more before we decide,” Peter said.

“What is there to think about?” Harley demanded. “Do you want Tony back or not?”

 _Of course I do,_ Peter wanted to say. _I want him back more than I want to breathe or eat or sleep or be Spider-Man._

But...they were talking about going back and changing the past. That wasn’t a responsibility to be undertaken lightly. How could he go back and take the gauntlet away from Tony, but not go back and warn his parents not to get on their flight? Or not go back and stay home like he was supposed to on the night of Ben’s murder?

It would change everything if he stopped his family from dying. How could he do it?

And yet...how could he _not_ do it? 

“This is way bigger than us, Harley. Haven’t you ever seen _The Butterfly Effect?_ ”

“Yeah, and I thought it was stupid. There are some risks worth taking, Peter. I didn’t think I’d have to try and convince you of all people that that’s the truth.”

Harley bade him a rather frigid goodbye and hung up. 

Peter remained awake until the sun rose and May came home from her shift, staring at the ceiling and pondering whether he had the right to go back and undo what Tony had deliberately chosen to do. 

***

Peter started sleeping in Mr. Stark’s lab almost every night that he stayed at the lake house. He’d usually doze off in his own bed around midnight, wake up at 2 with a nightmare, creep downstairs and ask FRIDAY to wake him up at 5:30 so he could sneak back upstairs before Ms. Potts woke up and noticed. 

One morning, however, he awoke with sunlight streaming through the lab’s skylight. 

He jolted upright in terror. “FRI? What—what time is it?” He slurred.

“It’s a little after 9,” Pepper replied calmly. 

She was standing a few feet away and rifling through a filing cabinet. 

“You should go back to sleep, Peter,” she continued, smiling at him. “I just came down here to get some SI paperwork.”

“Oh god,” Peter said, guilt sinking in his stomach like a stone. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Potts—”

“Peter,” Pepper said, sounding mildly exasperated. “Honey, for the thirty millionth time, _please_ call me Pepper.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Po—Pepper,” Peter apologized, quickly stumbling to his feet. _Shit,_ he groaned to himself, realizing that he was still wearing Mr. Stark’s MIT sweatshirt. There was no subtle way for him to take it off now. 

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for, Peter. Tony would be thrilled to know that you were spending time down here. He made sure to transfer your credentials and your files here even when it seemed impossible to reverse the Snap.”

“But I—I shouldn’t be sleeping down here. I’m sorry. Ms. Potts, you must hate me—” He scrambled to pull the sweatshirt off, freezing when he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“Stop,” she said. She was using her CEO voice; the one that made him instantly want to behave and have better posture. “Let’s sit,” she said with a sigh, patting the couch. “I was wondering when this was going to come up.”

All of a sudden, this felt so much bigger than her catching him sleeping in the lab. The words started spilling out. “You can say it, Ms. Potts. I know that it’s my fault that he’s gone. I’m so sorry, I wish he’d never done it, I swear—”

“Peter,” Pepper interrupted calmly. “Let’s get one thing straight—it isn’t your fault that Tony died. It’s Thanos’ fault, not yours.”

Peter blinked at her in disbelief. “But...no, you don’t understand! He never would’ve been in that situation if it weren’t for me! Clint told me that Tony agreed to help with the time travel thing because of me.”

Pepper smiled sadly. “Let me tell you something. I knew Tony for a long time, and he was a lost, arrogant asshole when I met him. But he grew and he changed so much. I’m so proud of the man he became. And that man was willing to sacrifice anything and everything for his kids. That’s just who Tony was, honey.”

Peter stared at her blankly. “His—his what?”

Pepper laughed. “His children, Peter. You and Morgan. And Harley, too, although Harley would never admit it.”

“Um...I...I don’t—” Peter stammered, letting out a shaky exhale. 

“Tony never wanted kids when I met him, you know. He was too afraid of being like his dad. But you know what changed all of that?”

Peter shook his head wordlessly. 

Pepper laughed again. He didn’t understand how she could say such earth-shattering things with a smile and a comforting hand on his knee. 

“It was you, Peter. All of a sudden, he was muttering about this Spider-Kid he had to look out for. He spent hours making suit updates so that you’d be as safe as possible. He even reconnected with his MIT friends so that he could talk you up to them.”

Peter swiped at his eyes quickly. He’d never heard this side of his early relationship with Tony before. 

“And then the Snap happened, and...he was so lost, Peter. So lost. Harley was gone, too. But I found out I was already a few months pregnant with Morgan, and it was like...like early spring, you know?” She gestured to the sunlight outside. “Just like right now. When it’s still cold and miserable, but every so often it’s warm enough to take your jacket off, and then you feel the warmth on your skin for the first time in ages, and you realize you’d forgotten what the sun felt like.” She smiled wistfully. “That’s what Morgan’s birth was like.”

They both glanced over at the closest lab bench, where a picture proudly showed Tony giving a toddler version of Morgan a piggyback ride. 

“He was such an amazing dad to her, Peter. I wish you could’ve seen it. And it was because of you. Because you made him brave enough to do that...to be her dad, and give her all of the love and affection in the world.”

“But now she doesn’t have him anymore,” Peter whispered, trying to keep the tears at bay. He couldn’t bring himself to say it, but he hated that he’d inadvertently put Morgan in the same situation he’d been in himself ten years ago. He knew what it was like to lose a parent that young, to slowly forget the sounds of their laugh and the color of their eyes, to rely on other people to give you their memories of your mom or dad because you didn’t have your own. 

But Pepper—smart, intuitive Pepper—already knew everything that Peter didn’t say. 

“We’ll keep him alive for her,” she said, determination clear in her voice. “We’ll tell her everything about him. We’ll show her footage from FRIDAY, and we’ll never let her forget him.” 

Peter didn’t understand how anyone could simultaneously be so strong and so compassionate. She was just like May. No wonder Mr. Stark had loved Ms. Potts so much. 

“Do you remember,” he said, “how Mr. Stark used to pretend that he liked May’s cooking, even when the rest of us teased her about it? And how he loved cream and sugar in his coffee but he never wanted to admit it?”

“Remember how he used to fall asleep all over the penthouse after he’d pull an all-nighter? But he’d always deny that he was sleeping?”

“I found him napping on the floor of the coat closet one time, and he tried to convince me that he’d just been testing FRIDAY’s heat signature detection abilities,” Peter snorted, and then suddenly, they were both laughing and crying and hugging each other, the walls between joy and grief and guilt broken down. 

The next time he crept down to the lab in the middle of the night, a stack of three more of Mr. Stark’s sweatshirts waited for him on the couch. There was a new framed photograph on the lab bench, right next to the picture of Tony and Morgan. A sticky note was attached to it. 

_Peter,_ it read in Ms. Potts' precise cursive.

_Tony kept this picture in the lab at the Tower. I thought it was time to move it here, where it belongs. He’d be so proud to know you were using the lab._

_-Pepper (not Ms. Potts! Or Mrs. Stark!)_

Peter slowly pulled the sticky note off the frame, revealing a familiar old photo from his sixteenth birthday. He and Mr. Stark were sitting at the kitchen table of his and May’s apartment, and Mr. Stark was leaning close to the cake, trying to blow out the candles before Peter could do it. Peter was looking at his mentor with an expression of shock and betrayal, and Ned stood in the background, his mouth open wide as he sang _Happy Birthday_. May had taken the shot with portrait mode on her StarkPhone, and she was much better at candid photography than baking cakes. 

He was sure that he would look at this photograph sometime tomorrow or next week or next month and be overcome by grief, but today, it just made him smile. He placed it where he could see it, and instead of taking up his usual position on the couch, he made his way over to Tony’s lab bench. 

He wasn’t going to just hide here when he couldn’t sleep, he decided. He was going to keep working to create tech that made the world safer and better, just like Tony had. 

“FRIDAY, pull up Mr. Stark’s recent project files,” he called. He had a lot of work to catch up on.

***

It took a long time for New York to return to some semblance of normalcy. Nobody had known that the blip would ever be reversed. Thinking the worst, they had moved, changed phone numbers, remarried, and switched careers. 

It led to months of confusion. People popped back into existence and couldn’t find their families. Some learned that their loved ones had died while they’d been gone. Others were still out there looking. 

Over time, it became normal to watch dramatic reunions unfold in public. It was kind of like those “soldiers coming home and surprising their families” compilations that everyone secretly watched and cried over sometimes. It happened everywhere—a neighbor recognized another neighbor at the grocery store. Someone tracked down a missing friend or sibling, and two people sprinted to embrace one another in the middle of a local park. Lost children showed up at their parents’ workplaces, sometimes finding their mom or dad waiting, looking up hopefully each time the door opened. 

Peter sat on the front steps of the public library one night after his patrol, eating a sandwich from Delmar’s. He was thinking about a project he was working on in Mr. Stark’s lab most nights he stayed at the lake house. It was a watch for Morgan that would have a few extra features for her protection. He was designing it based on a similar watch that Tony had given him for his sixteenth birthday. Peter’s watch, which he couldn’t bring himself to wear anymore, had a tracking device, the ability to monitor his vitals, and the ability to make emergency phone calls. 

Morgan’s watch was much simpler, but it was based on the same premise. As Spider-Man, Peter had a high likelihood of being kidnapped. As the Stark heir, Morgan had an even higher likelihood of being kidnapped. As much as Peter hated to even _think_ of somebody harming a hair on Morgan’s head, he knew that it was better to be prepared just in case. She was going off to kindergarten in the fall, and for the first time in her life, she’d be consistently spending time away from the safety of the lake house. And now that Tony wasn’t here - now that Tony had died to save Peter’s life—the least Peter could do was protect the man’s daughter to the best of his abilities. 

He’d made the watch purple, since that was Morgan’s favorite color, and he’d added GPS tracking and a panic button. He’d carved a little flower into the watch face, and if Morgan popped the lens off, she could tap on the flower twice, and it would automatically alert FRIDAY to track her position and call Peter’s phone. 

Peter was thinking about how he was going to test the device when he noticed a nervous looking teenage boy in his periphery. He set his sandwich aside and pulled his mask down so that it covered his mouth. The boy, a few years younger than Peter, wandered towards the steps of the library. He was looking all around, but not behind him, which meant that he wasn’t being chased. He seemed like he was panicking, but Peter didn’t sense any danger. 

Frowning, Peter remained seated but stayed poised to spring to his feet just in case. 

The boy continued to pace around nervously in front of the library, incredibly unaware of his surroundings. He didn’t even spare a glance in Peter’s direction, so focused on whatever invisible fears he was fighting in his head. 

Peter was about to stand up and ask the kid if he was okay when an old blue car pulled around the corner. 

Upon seeing the car, the boy abruptly crumpled to his knees on the cold, damp pavement, letting out a strange moan of shock.

Peter stood now, even though his spidey sense still didn’t detect any danger. The car stopped and a middle-aged man jumped out, looking like he’d seen a ghost. 

“Eddie!” The man shouted. He ran to the boy, and Peter realized too late what he was watching.

“Baba,” the boy, Eddie, sobbed. The two collapsed into one another’s arms, speaking rapidly in Arabic. 

Natasha Romanoff had only given Peter one brief Arabic lesson, but he didn’t need to know the language to understand that the father had been blipped and the boy had remained behind for the last five years. He could tell by the way that the father was looking at his son, his sorrow and amazement at his son’s new height and older face. 

He could tell by the way that the father’s eyes slid over his son’s shoulder to the prominent Iron Man mural on the building down the block.

The man mouthed something at the mural, and Peter looked away, his eyes burning. He didn’t need to watch what the man was mouthing to understand what he was saying. 

_Thank you. Thank you for bringing me back so that I can be with my child again. Thank you for not making me leave him._

Peter immediately shot a web and scrambled onto the top of the nearest building. He continued to web his way through the city until his limbs shook with exhaustion and his mind was quiet. 

Karen had been speaking to him repeatedly, but he wasn’t listening. 

“...suggest turning heater on, Peter.”

“...vitals elevated, Peter…”

“Would you like me to call Mr. Stark, Peter?”

Peter let out a furious scream, ripping his mask off, cursing Karen’s out-of-date coding. 

“It’s not fair!” He shouted. “It’s not...it’s not fair.” He reached up to touch his cheeks, surprised to find that they were wet. “Mr. Stark,” he whispered. “ _Mr. Stark—”_

This was why he didn’t like the city anymore. 

***

_PP: ~~I can’t fucking take this, Harley.~~_

_PP: ~~I miss him every single second of every single day~~_

_PP: I think we should look into the Stones, not the quantum realm stuff. Too much risk of changing the timeline._

_PP: Dr. Strange has a sanctum in NYC. I bet he has books about the Stones. I can’t break in myself, though. He’d know it was me. He can do magic._

_HK: You free next weekend?_

_***_

Maybe it was selfish, but Peter was profoundly thankful that Ned and MJ had blipped too. Even if the whole universe fell apart, at least his friends were still the same, and they could all understand how the others were feeling. 

Apparently Hollywood had marched on, even with half of its actors and audiences dusted. The three of them had been going to the movie theater each weekend to catch up on the movies they had missed during the past five years. 

“Wow, that was depressing,” Ned said, shaking his head as they left their movie of the week. 

“I know; I didn’t even know a rom com _could_ be depressing,” Peter agreed. While the main characters had ended up together at the end of the movie, all of the actors and extras had seemed to be moving on autopilot, their jokes and smiles flat and vacant. 

“I thought it was great. That’s exactly the way I like my rom coms,” MJ said, and as usual, Peter couldn’t tell if she was serious or joking. 

“Man, it’s crazy that people even _tried_ to make rom coms after the blip,” Ned said. 

“That’s capitalism for you,” MJ sniffed disdainfully.

“Pizza?” Peter asked hopefully, tugging his jacket tighter around himself. It was February, the worst time of the year to have spider DNA. 

“Yeah!” Ned agreed eagerly. “There’s a place down the block that sells slices for $3.”

Except when they arrived at the pizza joint, it was gone. It was dark and boarded up, another casualty of the blip. 

Ned looked crestfallen, and Peter understood. It didn’t matter that this was probably just a random restaurant Ned had visited a few times - it was the idea that five years had passed, and the world was no longer a familiar place in so many small, unexpected ways.

In a rare display of tactfulness, MJ quickly pointed out a Thai restaurant across the street. They piled into the warm restaurant, much quieter than before. Peter grabbed three menus, and they sat at a cramped table by the window, silently perusing the options. 

“This shit sucks,” Ned announced suddenly. “My little sister has her driver’s license and is older than me now and my Nana is dead.” 

MJ nodded. “My new stepdad is a fucking moron.”

Peter remained silent for a moment. What could he really say? He had died on Titan and woken up what felt like just a few moments later, only to watch Mr. Stark die. 

He cleared his throat. “Flash sent me another email redacting his apology. He says he never would’ve sent me that first email if I was alive, and now that I’m back, I have to deal with knowing that I’m inferior to him for the rest of my miserable existence.”

Ned and MJ burst into laughter.

“Are you kidding me, Peter?” Ned chuckled. “That’s practically a love letter, coming from Flash. He must miss you.”

Peter grinned, feeling a familiar band of gratitude and sadness squeeze tightly around his heart. 

***

The grief came suddenly, at completely unexpected times. 

He and Ned visited Mr. Delmar’s to get sandwiches. Peter reached into the hidden pocket of his winter jacket to look for cash and found an old note in Mr. Stark’s familiar scrawl. 

_Hey, Spider-Kid. Sushi tonight?_

Morgan smirked at him over a game of cards and the expression was so familiar that he had to stumble to his feet and leave the room, gasping for breath. 

The Avengers came over for dinner, and there were two empty seats at the table. 

May absentmindedly switched the radio station as she cooked dinner, and Led Zeppelin filled their kitchen. 

_Spent my days with a woman unkind, smoked my stuff and drank all my wine,_

_Made up my mind to make a new start, going to California with an aching in my heart._

Peter froze, his fingers clenched tightly around a tomato, remembering when Mr. Stark had been teaching him how to drive, how he’d talked Peter through merging onto the highway, how this song had played as the summer wind messed up their hair and the sun set behind them. 

_Hey, Pete, maybe once you get your license, we can go on a road trip together._

_Really, Mr. Stark? Oh my god, that would be **amazing.** Can we go to Yosemite? I always wanted to see El Capitan—did you hear about that guy who free climbed it? I bet I could do it with my eyes shut if I used my stickiness—_

“You okay, baby?” May asked. 

Peter wiped at his eyes quickly. “Yeah, it’s...onions.”

Neither of them bothered to point out that there were no onions in May’s lasagna recipe. 

***

 _“What's the bravest thing you ever did?”_ The boy from _The Road_ asked his father. 

_He spat in the road a bloody phlegm. “Getting up this morning,” he said._

_“Really?”_

_“No. Don’t listen to me. Come on, let’s go.”_

They kept walking.

***

Peter met Harley at the Greyhound station. 

“You think that with both of us having the richest man in the world as a father figure, we could’ve afforded a flight,” Harley remarked as they stepped outside into the evening light. The days were just barely starting to get longer. It felt good, but it still felt wrong that the world should be returning to warmth and light when Tony was gone. 

“Yeah, he kept trying to pay me for my internship, but I kept shooting him down. Little did I know I’d need to personally fund my attempts to bring him back to life a few years later,” Peter grinned. It felt strange but good to joke about what they were doing. 

“Being a superhero doesn’t pay well?” Harley asked, looking sidelong at him as they walked to the subway. 

Peter tried to keep his posture from stiffening. “I...don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said quickly. “It’s Morgan, she’s been blowing through the entire inheritance. Spending it all on dinosaur collectibles.”

But Harley wouldn’t be redirected. “You’re a terrible liar, Spidey. No wonder you use a mask.”

Peter didn’t feel the familiar tingle of danger that signaled an imminent attack, but he still wasn’t sure how to react to Harley’s accusations. 

“Relax, Peter,” Harley said, bumping his shoulder against Peter’s. His grin faded into a more serious expression. “I’m not messing with you or anything. I mean...I figured it out well before the blip. When Tony started telling me that he had a personal intern right around the same time that Spider-Man was swinging around with Stark technology on, I knew.”

“Oh.” He probably should’ve kept the lie going, but he was too exhausted. “Tell me something about Tony that only one of us would know about him,” he said firmly. 

“Easy,” Harley grinned. “He was watching _Breaking Bad_ with you before the blip. I was watching it at the same time as you guys, and he and I would text about it sometimes. You guys were on Season 3, right?”

Peter felt his shoulders relax. “Yeah,” he admitted, relieved. He really didn’t want Harley to turn out to be some kind of evil henchman. He didn’t want to be alone on this journey to get Mr. Stark back. 

“Anyway, can I see the suit?” Harley asked eagerly, reminding Peter of Ned. 

“Yeah, I was planning to suit up while you go into the sanctum, anyway. Keep watch for you.”

Harley shook his head. “No way, dude. You’ll get caught in an instant. I’m going to the sanctum alone. You need to stick around here and patrol, and you need to make it obvious. Get yourself recorded; get an appearance on TV if you can manage it. You’re going to need an airtight alibi.”

“No way!” Peter exclaimed. “You’re going to need me to keep a lookout, trust me. You don’t know Dr. Strange. This isn’t going to be easy.”

“Uh, rude, Parker. You don’t think I can handle myself against one sorcerer?”

“Um...no? He has fucking magic, bro.”

Harley began to imitate one of Peter’s favorite Vines, windmilling his arms and shouting “Don’t fuck with me! I have the power of god and anime on my side!”

Several people making their way along in the flow of rush hour traffic turned to look at the pair of them oddly. 

“Holy shit,” Peter said in amazement, laughing in spite of himself. “I now understand why I was Tony’s favorite child. The crazy shit you and Morgan get up to makes me look like a goddamn angel in comparison.”

“Uh, excuse me, Parker, you are definitely not the favorite child in this family. You’re the forgotten, melancholy middle kid.”

“Aren’t you like...two months older than me?”

“Yeah, that still makes me older, in case you skipped the day in second grade that we learned about calendars. When I was that age, I was building my own supercomputer during recess.”

“Oh, very funny,” Peter grumbled. They pushed their way through the crowd and into the subway station. 

“Bleecker Street, right?” Harley asked quietly. 

Peter nodded. 

“Great, thanks!” He said. Before Peter knew it, Harley darted away from him, ducking into the crowd. 

“Harley!” He shouted. 

Harley turned back to him, smirking. “Alibi!” He shouted back. Then he was moving again, slipping into the crowd and pushing his way to the front of the line. 

Peter swore, trying to follow him. The crowd was thick with people, loud and smelly. It was overwhelming to his senses, but he pushed through anyway, ignoring the annoyed grunts and sharp elbows he received for trying to jump the line. 

He had to give up once Harley made it through the gate and disappeared towards the trains. 

He turned around and fought his way back out of the crowd, grumbling to himself. “This fucking family,” he muttered under his breath. But he was laughing as he suited up and began to swing through Queens. 

***

“That’s a hell of an alibi, Pete,” Harley drawled, startling Peter.

“Jesus! Give a guy some warning when you’re going to interrupt him in the middle of pulling the knife out.”

“Is this the proper medical procedure for stabbings?” Harley asked, dubiously eyeing Peter as Peter winced and pulled the small blade out of his side in one horrible motion. 

Stars danced in front of Peter’s eyes for a long moment. 

When he came back to reality, Harley was pushing him to sit down, propping him up against the brick wall of the alleyway by the Greyhound station. 

“Easy there, Spidey. There’s a CVS across the street. I’m going to go buy some supplies to deal with this. What’s your favorite flavor of Gatorade?”

“I prefer...Vitamin Water,” Peter gasped. 

“Fucking snob,” Harley laughed. “Spoken like Tony’s kid.”

“You don’t...have to get me anything. It’s...not too bad. Small knife. Stupid mugger. Super healing.”

“Yeah, nice try, but you still need to disinfect it, bro.” Harley got up to leave and Peter was too dizzy to stop him. 

“Keep pressure on that!” Harley called before disappearing across the street. 

Peter floated hazily for a few moments, and then Harley was back, tugging the ripped pieces of the suit aside so that he could see the wound. 

“The bleeding is starting to taper off,” he exhaled in relief. “Brace yourself, this is going to suck.”

He poured some kind of disinfectant on Peter’s side, and Peter drew in a sharp breath. If Tony were here, he would’ve been making all the pained noises he wanted, and Tony would’ve been muttering a steady stream of “it’s okay,” and “almost done,” and “I know this is the worst part, but you’re doing great, bud.”

But Tony wasn’t here, so Peter bit down on his knuckles to keep from whimpering. 

When the burn faded, Peter sat up straighter and took stock of the injury. 

“Thanks, man,” he said, his breathing still not quite even. “I can tell that it’s starting to close. Just gotta wait a little while and then I can walk again.”

“So...do you spend a lot of time hiding in dirty alleyways like this?” Harley asked conversationally, sitting down next to him. He ripped open a pack of Skittles and poured a few into Peter’s waiting hand. Peter pulled his mask up slightly so he could eat. 

“Well, I am part spider,” he shrugged.

“Gotta say, this isn’t as glamorous as I imagined it would be.”

“Welcome to my fucking life,” Peter grinned tiredly. 

They’d finished the Skittles and switched to Reese's Pieces when Peter turned to Harley. “So? What did you find in the Sanctum?” He asked expectantly. 

Harley’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “A big fat nothing.”

“Damn,” Peter groaned. 

“Yeah. Fortunately, he wasn’t home, so it was easy to get in and out. I’m sure I tripped some kind of magic burglar alarm, but I wore a mask and gloves. And like you said, he doesn’t know me, so he won’t, like, recognize my aura or something.”

“Were there books?” 

“Yeah, but they were all written in fucking runes.” 

Harley opened his phone and showed Peter a few pictures of opened books with pages covered in unfamiliar symbols. 

“Maybe I could ask Thor?” Peter suggested. 

“Right,” Harley scoffed. “Like that wouldn’t be suspicious.”

“I mean...Thor is a bit oblivious at times. But yeah, I suppose even he would wonder why I was asking him about spellbooks.”

“And for all we know, these pages aren’t even about the Infinity Stones. We could be tipping our hand for this to turn out to be a magical bread recipe or something.”

Peter groaned. “Back to square one, then.”

He couldn’t help but notice that Harley wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. 

“Yeah, but at least we ruled something out.”

“Sure,” Peter agreed. He carefully filed away the fact that Harley didn’t seem to be telling the full truth about his excursion for later examination.

***

After another hour or two, Peter’s side was knitting itself back together. He slowly hobbled back to the Greyhound station with Harley.

“You sure you have to go back tonight?” He asked. “I’m going to call Happy for a ride to the lake house. Why don’t you come stay for a few days?”

“Nah, I can’t,” Harley shrugged. “I got...stuff to do.”

“It could be fun, though. We could do normal stuff for once - go hiking in the woods. Steal a bottle from the liquor cabinet and get hammered. I’m sure Morgan would love to have two of us to boss around.”

“Some other time, maybe,” Harley demurred. They hugged and then Harley disappeared into the bus station. 

That was Harley, Peter supposed. Always holding himself at arm’s length from everyone else. 

***

It was because of Morgan that he first began exploring the woods around the lake house. 

“We need to play where there are lots of trees, Petey!” She argued passionately. “How else are we going to hunt for treestars?” 

Morgan was still on a major _Land Before Time_ kick _._ After some deliberation, they had decided that she was Little Foot, the main character, and he was Petrie, the pterodactyl who was afraid to fly. Morgan had tried to tell him that he had to be Spike, the dinosaur who ate entire bushes of food in one bite, but he had vetoed that designation. 

(Personally, Peter thought that she should probably be Cera, the bossy triceratops, but he was too afraid of Morgan’s wrath to even suggest it.)

“You have to be Spike, because Auntie May says you eat more than ten grown men,” Morgan declared. To be fair, it was a pretty strong argument. 

“Well, if I’m Spike, then you have to be Ducky,” he’d pointed out, since the two characters were siblings. 

“Nah, Ducky is too nice,” Morgan shook her head. 

Peter grinned. “Spoken like Tony Stark and Pepper Potts’ child.”

Peter was a city boy, so the idea of going into the woods made him nervous. He’d spent plenty of time in New York City’s parks, but he’d never been in the real wilderness. He found himself terrified of getting lost, especially with Morgan at his side. 

Their first few forays into the forest were tentative. He’d borrowed a map of the property from Pepper and tried to memorize it, to no avail. The Starks’ land stretched over 200 acres, and it abutted a chain of state forests that ran for hundreds of miles, stretching between the Catskills and the Adirondacks up north.

At first, Peter never let them stray beyond the point of being able to see the house. They pretended to be explorers, went on scavenger hunts, waded in the little brook, all within shouting distance of Pepper. Peter had to stop Morgan from eating leaves a few times—she’d taken to calling them treestars and declaring that they looked delicious. He’d been too late to stop her once, and when he’d seen her disgusted face after she took a big bite out of a leaf, he’d laughed for the first time since Tony’s death. 

After about a week of this, Peter began to realize that he actually _liked_ the woods. In fact, his spider side thrived in this new environment. He was used to the cacophony of sounds and smells and lights in New York City, but for the first time, he could let his senses stretch, free of distraction from traffic and other people. His spider side was meant to thrive in a wilderness environment, after all. Compared to the sensory overload of Queens, it was heaven to smell the fragrant scent of pine needles and hear a fox chasing its prey several miles away. 

He felt grounded in the woods. When Morgan went to gymnastics class or had her afternoon “quiet time” (Pepper warned him not to call it a nap, even though she fell asleep almost every time), Peter took to exploring, testing himself and his abilities. He found that he could walk four or five miles away from the lake house and still hear the faint, reassuring thump of Pepper and Morgan’s heartbeats. In a city environment, he could rarely track somebody’s heartbeat or scent for more than a block or two. On one occasion, when he couldn’t decide which way he needed to turn to get back to the house, he had used his stickiness to effortlessly scale a giant oak tree. He’d been able to use his sharp eyesight to pick out the lake house. 

He couldn’t swing anywhere in the woods because of how dense the trees were, but he didn’t mind walking. He gradually became familiar with the well-worn hiking trails and mountain biking paths that nobody used anymore. His sense of smell and hearing allowed him to know when animals were approaching, but for the most part, he left them alone and they left him alone. 

It was nice to have a place where nobody needed him. And for some reason, the woods made him feel closer to Tony. He doubted that Tony had done the kind of hiking around that Peter was doing—his mentor practically lived in the lab no matter where he was. 

But still, Tony had bought this land. Tony had lived here. He’d told Morgan stories about Peter here. And perhaps he’d walked some of these same trails, grieving for Peter, just as Peter grieved for him. 

As February bled into March, Peter walked through the forest and looked for signs of life. He imagined himself at Yosemite, tall, silent trees on either side of him. 

Some days he would see little green buds on bushes and birds flying from south to north overhead. 

But some days everything was still and quiet, and the ground was cold and dead beneath his boots. 

***

The father died at the end of _The Road_. 

He managed to keep himself alive just long enough for him and his son to reach a warmer climate. He got to watch his child swim in the ocean for the first time. And then his body gave out, and he succumbed to his injuries and the years of sickness and starvation. 

On the last night, the boy sat next to his father. He asked his father about a little boy that he thought he’d seen near one of the houses when they’d searched for food months earlier. 

_“Do you think he was lost?”_ The boy asked.

_“No. I don’t think he was lost.”_

_“I’m scared that he was lost.”_

_“I think he’s all right.”_

_“But who will find him if he’s lost? Who will find the little boy?”_

_“Goodness will find the little boy. It always has. It will again.”_

The father was gone by the morning light. He’d protected his son from the end of the world, but he’d died doing it. The boy stayed with his father’s body for three days, and then he had to keep walking down the road, all alone this time. 

A group of benevolent-seeming refugees found the boy and took him in, and that was how the story concluded.

Peter now understood the message Tony had seen in this book. 

When he finished the last page, he screamed into his pillow and threw the book as hard as he could against his bedroom wall, watching with satisfaction as it slipped behind his desk. 

It was a book, so it couldn’t shatter, but he left it there to collect dust nonetheless.

***

Peter had thought the word before. 

It would be a lie to say that he hadn’t. 

He’d never thought it about Ben. Maybe it was because Ben was his dad’s brother, and he’d known Ben as his uncle first. Maybe it was because Ben was careful to never refer to himself as Peter’s father, wanting to keep Richard’s memory alive. 

He’d gotten Ben a Father’s Day card every year, but that was as close as they’d ever come to acknowledging it. And that had been fine with Peter. Sure, he wished that he had a mom and a dad, but he’d never felt unloved or abandoned. After Richard and Mary died, May and Ben became his parents in everything but name. 

So Mr. Stark had caught him off guard. 

Peter idolized the man since his return from Afghanistan, but he’d never expected to actually _meet_ him. It was amazing enough when Mr. Stark saved his life at the Stark Expo and said, “Nice work, kid.”

That was enough for a lifetime, Peter had thought to himself. That was way more interaction than most people got with their childhood heroes. 

But then he’d walked into the apartment five years later and seen Mr. Stark sitting on his couch and eating his aunt’s horrible date loaf. And then Mr. Stark brought him to Germany, and the homecoming fiasco happened, and it had been a tough road, but Peter finally earned Mr. Stark’s respect. 

And then there was a blissful year before the fateful MOMA field trip and the destruction of half the world’s population where their relationship went beyond baseline respect and into mentor/mentee territory. 

They worked in the lab together every Wednesday after school, making his SI internship official, and he visited the compound every other weekend for combat training with Rhodey and Vision. They made upgrades to Peter’s suit and improved his web fluid formula. They tested the limits of Peter’s superstrength and spider abilities and worked with Dr. Cho to synthesize painkillers that would actually work for Peter’s physiology. 

But there were other things, too. Things that went beyond the simple bounds of mentorship. 

Like Peter’s bedroom at the Avengers compound, which had been decorated with _Star Wars_ posters, video game consoles, and a mini-lab bench for all his tech, even though he only stayed there a few nights every month. 

Or the fact that sometimes Peter finished up his internship work, only for Mr. Stark to announce that he’d ordered them pizza and they might as well pick a movie to watch while they ate. One time, Mr. Stark even spent an evening teaching Peter how to make pasta, reading from an Italian cookbook that Peter suspected had belonged to Maria Stark. 

May took Peter to get his driver’s permit, but Mr. Stark was the one to teach him how to drive. 

Sure, Mr. Stark took care of Spider-Man—patched him up when he was injured after patrol, equipped his suit with a ridiculous amount of safety features—but he also took care of Peter Parker. 

Peter didn’t give the matter much thought until one of his decathlon teammates, who was a grade older and obviously didn’t know Peter’s status as a pathetic orphan, tapped him on the arm before a competition. 

“Hey, Parker, I think your dad is trying to get your attention,” Desiree said, pointing to the crowd. 

Peter nearly fell out of his chair in shock when he saw Mr. Stark sitting next to May, a baseball hat pulled down over his hair and dark sunglasses hiding his eyes. 

As Peter stared in bewilderment, May waved and Mr. Stark gave him a thumbs up. Peter was so startled that he almost missed the first question of the competition, but then he realized that he didn’t want to let Mr. Stark down, and he managed to correct his focus. 

Desiree’s casual assumption rattled around in his brain after that, though. 

It was there when Mr. Stark woke him up from a horrible nightmare about the Vulture one night at the compound, sitting with him until he fell back to sleep. It was there when he picked Peter up from school after Ned called to say that Peter had locked himself into a library study cubicle with a sensory overload attack. It was there on the donut ship, when Peter was dragged up to the stratosphere with Dr. Strange. 

_Pete, you gotta let go, I’m going to catch you._

Peter never said it out loud, not while Mr. Stark was alive. 

And after he was gone, Morgan was the one who said it. She didn’t really understand how Peter could be her brother but not have the same parents as her.

When they played together, she’d sometimes stop and tilt her head just like Pepper. “Remember that song Daddy liked to sing? About the free bird?”

Peter did remember. 

Whenever Peter referred to Mr. Stark as “Mr. Stark,” Morgan rolled her eyes and told him to stop being weird.

And every once in a while, when he was absolutely certain that Pepper and Happy weren’t around, he’d nudge Morgan. 

“Hey, Morgie,” he’d say. “Remember that amazing soup Dad used to make whenever somebody got sick or hurt?”

Morgan did remember. 

***

Rhodey appeared at the lake house one afternoon, and Peter had a feeling that he knew why the man was there. 

“Uncle Rhodey!” Morgan shrieked so loudly that Peter instantly clapped his hands over his sensitive ears. 

The two of them were using Morgan’s extensive chalk supply to draw an epic Spider-Man and Morgan-Woman (Morgan’s current superhero name for herself) mural on the paved driveway that led from the road to the lake house. 

“Hi, Morgan, Peter,” Rhodey greeted, hugging Morgan carefully. He always seemed slightly unsure of how to interact with her and Peter, but Peter supposed a military lifestyle didn’t lend itself to hanging out with many kids. He thought it was pretty sweet that Rhodey always tried, nonetheless. 

“Hi, Rhodey,” Peter greeted with a grin. He tried not to think about Rhodey standing behind him on the battlefield, Tony’s heart rate fading and the light on his suit’s arc reactor flickering out. 

He wondered if Rhodey saw the same thing when he looked at Peter. 

“Uncle Rhodey, Uncle Rhodey, Uncle Rhodey!” Morgan chirped happily. “Look, I drew you!” She proudly pointed out a misshapen stick figure soaring through the sky, next to something that might have been either Harley or a pumpkin. 

“Thank you, Morgan. It looks great,” Rhodey said, catching Peter’s eye and smiling.

“Here, Uncle Rhodey, you have to draw Mr. Dr. Bruce,” she commanded, passing Rhodey a green piece of chalk. 

He saw Rhodey mouth the words _Mr. Dr. Bruce_ to himself and he snorted, returning to his own drawing. He was working on Wanda, but he’d accidentally made her look evil by giving her cartoonish red eyes. 

They worked in comfortable silence for a while until Morgan decided that they needed snacks. 

“Wait here,” she instructed them. “I’m going to get lots of chips!”

“I should probably go help her,” Peter excused himself, hastily standing and wiping his chalky hands on his sweatpants. 

“Actually, Peter, Pepper waved to me from the window a few minutes ago. I’m sure she’ll help Morgan.”

“Oh, cool,” Peter agreed, reminding himself that he shouldn’t act like he had something to hide. 

“There was something I was hoping to ask you about, anyway,” Rhodey began. 

Peter’s heart rate ticked up and his palms began to sweat. _Here we go,_ he thought to himself nervously. He wished he was wearing his mask. May had always been able to read him like an open book, and as a result, he’d never gotten very good at lying, unless it was about his Spider-Man identity. 

“Dr. Strange called to say that there was a recent break-in and theft at the sanctum.”

Peter blinked in real surprise. “A theft? Really? What did the person take?”

“Dr. Strange wouldn’t say, but it was something very important.”

Peter narrowed his eyes in confusion. _What the hell did you do, Harley?_ He mentally groaned. 

He tried to remember if he’d glimpsed anything strange in Harley’s backpack when Harley had opened it to fish out his wallet, but nothing stood out. Whatever Harley had stolen was smaller than a backpack, at the very least. 

Rhodey looked relieved by Peter’s genuine reaction, and Peter knew he’d definitely been a prime suspect for the break-in. Which meant that Harley had been right to force Peter into patrolling that night, after all. 

“It was last Saturday. You were probably out in Queens then, right? Do you remember anything unusual from that night?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah—got stabbed by a mugger. Hard to forget that. But nothing magic-related.”

Rhodey seemed appeased. “You okay? Stab wound all healed up?” 

“Oh, yeah, it was fine within a few hours,” Peter assured him. He wanted to close out this conversation as quickly as possible. “Well, I hope Dr. Strange figures out who took it. I’ll keep an ear out as Spider-Man, I guess.”

“Yeah, let me know if you hear about any magical artifacts being passed around.”

“Will do,” Peter agreed, hoping he sounded casual enough. 

“You want to go in and grab a snack? I’d like to say hi to Pepper.”

But Peter had been expecting this interrogation, and he had a question of his own that he’d been mulling over. It was something that he thought that only Rhodey, out of all the Avengers, would willingly tell him. It was something that he really didn’t want to know, but it was the only other source of information about the Infinity Stones available, since Dr. Strange’s sanctum had let them down. 

“Actually...can I ask you something?” Peter asked tentatively. 

Rhodey fixed his calculating gaze on Peter. “Of course,” he said. “Come on, let’s walk.”

They set off slowly down the driveway, and Peter was grateful for the motion. It made it so that he didn’t have to look Rhodey in the eyes. 

“How did Natasha die?”

Peter didn’t miss Rhodey’s slight flinch. 

“Why do you ask?”

Peter took a deep breath. He felt awful for bringing this up, and worse for lying about it. “I keep having nightmares about her and Tony dying. And...I don’t know what happened to her, so my brain is making up all kinds of horrible things.”

Rhodey frowned. “I didn’t know you were close to Natasha.”

To be honest, Peter hadn’t really known Natasha well. She’d come to the compound a few times during the year between the Civil War and the snap. Peter hadn’t fully understood the dynamic of Rogue vs. Non-Rogue Avengers, but he knew that Nat had straddled the fence between the two groups. Tony looked at her with hurt in his eyes, but he never kicked her out. 

But…”She was a spider like me, Rhodey. And she taught me different languages.”

It had been just a few brief lessons—the bare bones of Arabic, Russian, and Mandarin, to complement the Spanish he was learning at school. But every time Spider-Man greeted someone in their native language or was able to help someone who didn’t speak English, he thought about Nat. 

Rhodey’s eyes softened. “She didn’t suffer, Peter. It was quick. She and Clint went to Vormir to get the Soul Stone. The Soul Stone has a sort of bartering system attached to it. You can sacrifice one life to bring another life back, or sacrifice one life to wield the stone."

Peter's breath caught in his throat. 

"In order to take the Stone, one of them had to sacrifice their life. She and Clint fought, and...she won the fight. She died as a hero.” Rhodey placed a hand on his shoulder, but Peter almost didn’t feel it. He stood stock still, the sound of the cool breeze and birds chirping suddenly overwhelmingly loud as the full reality of Natasha’s death sank in. 

So that was it, then. 

Peter finally understood what his options were. 

He could sneak back in time when Steve left to return the Stones, steal the Soul Stone from Steve, go to Vormir and do what Natasha had done. A life for a life. 

He could sacrifice himself with the Soul Stone and bring Tony back. 

Involving Harley in this plan was obviously out of the question. Peter couldn’t let his sort-of-brother know about this, or he would try to sacrifice himself so that Peter couldn’t. 

Or...he could do nothing. He could let Steve return the Stones like he was supposed to, and Peter could keep on living. 

“Rhodey,” Peter said in a small voice. 

The man turned to face Peter. In the dying afternoon sunlight, he suddenly looked old and exhausted, far from a superhero. Just a tired, world-worn uncle. 

“Do you think...is it better to be the one who dies, or the one who has to keep living?”

Rhodey was silent for a moment. 

“I don’t think either of those options is ‘better,’ kid,” he said, shaking his head. “We’re never really given a choice in the matter, anyway. Either we’re the one who survives, or we’re the one who dies.”

He seemed to realize that this wasn’t the response Peter wanted, so he appeared to keep thinking for a moment.

“But...I think it’s harder to be the one who is left behind. It’s an act of great bravery sometimes, just to keep living when someone you love has died and you feel like it’s your fault.”

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled, thinking about Ben and Mr. Stark. 

_An act of great bravery,_ he thought to himself as he walked back up the driveway with Rhodey. Would it be selfish of him to trade places with Mr. Stark? Would he simply be passing his burden of grief and guilt onto Tony if he sacrificed himself to bring the man back?

Was it kinder for him to stay alive and let Tony be at peace?

Morgan was waiting for them at the top of the driveway. “Look!” She exclaimed proudly. “I drew Daddy!” She pointed to a red and yellow stick figure that she’d drawn. In Morgan’s picture, one of Tony’s hands was overlapping Morgan’s uneven fingers. His other hand was overlapping Peter’s.

“That…looks great, Morgan,” Peter said, his throat tight. His heart felt unbearably heavy in his chest with the knowledge he now carried. 

He knew what he had to do so that Tony could actually be here to hold Morgan’s hand. 

***

_PP: WHAT THE HELL, DUDE_

_PP: omg did you steal stuff from Dr. Strange??_

_HK: Yeah. Just a few odds and ends. Nothing big._

_PP: Wtfffff Rhodey was just asking me about it. It sounded serious._

_PP: What did you take?_

_PP: It’s a good thing you went instead of me._

_HK: Just some odds and ends. I needed some samples to experiment with._

_HK: I want to see if I can find a scientific explanation for magic._

_PP: Good luck with that one. Shit doesn’t make any sense._

***

The stars frightened him now. 

He had always loved astronomy, but living in Queens meant that there wasn’t much opportunity to actually see constellations or more than a few stars each night. 

The sky above the lake house was immense, glittering, dizzying. If he had visited the lake house when he was still a seven-year-old kid, he knew that a telescope would’ve been at the top of his Christmas and birthday list for eternity. 

Morgan loved the stars. Tony had taught her some of the constellations, and she always begged Pepper and Peter to let her go outside before bedtime to look at them. As the weather grew warmer, Pepper sometimes consented, especially on nights when there was no moon or clouds. 

Morgan always insisted that Peter join her and Pepper on these evenings. Peter knew that it was important to Morgan; that looking at the stars was a good way for her to feel close to her dad. 

He always consented, but he kept his distance, perching on the porch where the roof covered most of his view of the sky, clenching his fists so tightly that his nails formed half-moon crescents in his palms. 

The stars had been beautiful to him once, but now they were cold and terrible. 

Ever since the blip, sociologists, psychologists, psychiatrists, anthropologists, and every other kind of academic under the sun had been talking about how the blip affected the scientific understanding of death. 

Had the billions who blipped truly been dead during those five years? Or had they merely been trapped in the Soul Stone?

Among those who returned, nobody had any clear memories of their time away, other than orange light and darkness. 

Was that what happened after death? Or was that what happened when you were trapped in the Soul Stone?

If the social scientists ever figured it out, Peter didn’t want to know the answer. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to imagine his parents and Ben floating in that darkness, lost and unfeeling. 

He saw it sometimes in his dreams—his limbs disintegrating, Tony’s panicked expression, and then—

Darkness so thick that he felt like he was swimming through the ocean, unable to tell which direction the surface was. A place where he couldn’t reach May’s laugh or Tony’s grin. A place where he couldn’t even remember who he was.

Where had he been when he was gone? Where was Tony now?

_You can rest now._

That’s what Pepper had told Tony at the end of it all. 

But...what if _rest_ meant the darkness? 

***

Naturally, Morgan wanted an astronomy-themed birthday party. She was turning six at the end of March, and she negotiated with her mom to have an evening party, so that everyone could have a constellation scavenger hunt.

Peter helped her look at the calendar. Together, they tracked the lunar cycle and weather forecast so that they could pick a party day with the best chances of clear night skies. 

They reviewed constellations together, and Peter made Morgan stay (relatively) on task during the painstaking process of addressing invitations to her gymnastics friends and the Avengers. 

Having to keep an unruly five-year-old in check was worth it in the end when he got to see the Avengers interact with a gaggle of five-year-old girls who were hopped up on sugar and party games. He had been in a decidedly somber mood since his conversation with Rhodey, but even he couldn’t help but laugh as he watched two girls French braid Thor’s hair while three others chased Sam Wilson around, pretending to be monsters.

“You holding up, Peter?” A familiar voice asked. 

Peter looked up from frosting Morgan’s birthday cake. 

“Hi, Dr. Banner,” he said. “Yeah. You?”

“For the most part, yeah,” Bruce shrugged. He was looking around the lake house as if he expected Tony to pop up at any moment, carrying a tray of margaritas or wandering through with a screwdriver and whatever tech he was fiddling with. 

Peter knew the feeling well. He’d seen Tony everywhere when he’d first returned from the blip. The feeling had only diminished for him because he spent so much time at the lake house. 

His brain had stopped thinking that Tony was going to appear. 

“Hey, I wanted to tell you—I saw the watch you made Morgan. It’s really impressive,” Bruce smiled. 

“Really? Thanks!” Peter smiled, startled. He’d given Morgan the watch this morning, and she’d been proudly showing everyone when they arrived at the party. Bruce’s compliment was especially exciting. It had been a long time since he’d had anyone to discuss science with, besides texting with Ned and Harley. 

“You should come work with me this summer. Or whenever you feel up to it. I’d love to have your help in the lab.”

Peter dropped the knife and almost cut a giant gouge on the top of the cake.

“Are you kidding me?” He gasped, elation blossoming in his chest. 

“No, I could really use some help. Dr. Cho and I are working on some improvements to the regeneration cradle. I’m going to visit Shuri next month to pick her brain—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Peter hissed, dragging his hands down his face in shock. 

“Language,” Steve and one of the five-year-olds chorused in unison. 

“Bruce—you are literally my science idol. I’ve dreamed of this moment since I was eight. Yes, of course, I will come to Wakanda with you and help you in your lab. Please, god! Let’s ditch the party and go now!”

Bruce laughed. “I don’t think your sister would like that very much. You might upstage her if her friends see the quinjet.”

Peter’s grin faltered at that. _Morgan. The Stones._ He wasn’t going to be around in a month to visit Wakanda if he carried out his plan to bring Tony back. It had felt hypothetical initially, but now that the time was drawing close for Steve to actually leave to return the Stones, the reality of what he was contemplating was starting to sink in. 

“You okay, Peter?” Bruce asked, his kind eyes concerned.

Peter shook his head to clear it. “Yeah, just...wish Tony could be here.”

Bruce placed a gentle hand on Peter’s shoulder. “Me too, kid,” Bruce sighed. “Me too.”

***

After a pizza dinner, the party moved outside for the constellation scavenger hunt. Peter had been expecting Morgan to be front and center in the proceedings, but she hung back, oddly. 

At first, he assumed Pepper’s lectures about letting her friends win had sunk in, but then he noticed that Morgan looked rather lost, meandering among the small crowd of adults and kids aimlessly. 

“Come here, Momo,” Peter called. “I need help finding the Little Dipper.”

“Petey,” she exhaled, her lower lip trembling. She flung herself into his arms and he caught her, startled. 

“Whoa, hey,” he said, kneeling down so that he could adjust his grip and pick her up properly. He carried her away from the crowd, down to the dock. 

“What’s wrong, birthday girl?” He asked, seating them on the wooden bench that faced the lake. 

“I’m big sad, Petey,” Morgan sniffed. Pepper had been teaching her to label the size of her feelings as a way to help Morgan understand her own grief better, which was adorable but devastating. 

No six-year-old should be “big sad” on their birthday. And yet, Peter remembered feeling the same way on his own sixth birthday, just months after his parents had died. It had been the first milestone where his parents should have been there but weren’t.

“I thought Daddy was going to come tonight,” Morgan confessed softly. “I know he’s dead, but _you_ were dead, and you came back. And it’s my birthday. But he’s not coming, is he?”

Peter felt horrible. This was something that many child psychologists had expressed concern about _—_ that the blip would affect how children understood death. That it would make them think that it was normal for dead people to return. 

“I’m sorry, Morgan,” he whispered. “I know he would’ve loved to be here.”

 _I’m going to get him back,_ he wanted to say. _Just hold on._ _I’m going to take the Soul Stone and sacrifice myself. I'm going to do it for you, Momo, I promise._

But he couldn’t make that promise and give Morgan false hope until he was 100% certain that his plan was going to work. She’d find out on her own, soon enough. 

“Maybe if I wish hard enough on my birthday cake, he’ll come back,” Morgan said, her voice wobbling. 

“I’m sorry, Morgie. Even birthday wishes can’t bring people back from the dead.”

Morgan sighed, as though she’d been expecting this answer but had been hopeful anyway. “Are we going to be big sad forever, Petey?”

“Well, we’re always going to be big sad sometimes, because we love Dad and we miss him. But you’ll start being happy again too. And it might be sooner than you think.”

They quietly started looking for the constellations on Morgan’s scavenger hunt paper. 

“Orion was Daddy’s favorite,” Morgan said. “Because Orion has a bow and arrow. He’s protecting us.”

Peter laughed. “Yeah, Dad would like that.”

He held Morgan close, breathing in the comforting scent of her watermelon shampoo. In the distance, he saw Happy swing May around, while Pepper carefully carried Morgan’s cake down to the picnic table. The girls were singing a Moana song, and Thor and Rhodey were collecting their scavenger hunt papers. Sam, Bruce, and Wanda were sharing beers around the campfire. Steve and Bucky sat together on the rocky beach by the lake, their heads bent close together.

His heart hurt. His heart hurt. He’d had a little sister for three months, and now he had to give her up. He wanted to freeze this moment in time and remember it forever. He didn’t want to go to Vormir and leave these people behind, not when he had already missed so much. He’d never expected to find so many simple, powerful reasons that he wanted to stay alive. 

_It’s going to be worth it,_ he told himself stubbornly, pushing his doubts away. _May has Happy, and Morgan is going to be so happy to have her dad back. That’s worth it. Don’t think about anything else._

Above all else, he wished for more time. Just a few more days. A week. A month, tops. He needed to finish teaching Morgan to tie her shoes. He and May were supposed to go to a Yankees game in a few weeks, for the first time ever. He and Ned and MJ had plans to go to Coney Island this summer.

Thanks to Parker Luck, however, time was not on his side.

***

The end of the party was utter chaos. The kids were hugging the Avengers while their parents stammered in amazement. Morgan darted around, distributing party favors to anyone and everyone. 

Above the din, Peter heard the exchange he’d been waiting for, listening with a mixture of dread and numb acceptance.

“Next Saturday at the compound, Rogers?” Bruce asked. “You heard Strange’s report about the break-in, right? Someone might be planning to steal the Stones. We need to get them back where they belong as soon as possible.”

“Yeah,” Steve agreed softly. “Next Saturday.”

Peter practically ran away from the group. He slipped into the woods and sprinted until he could no longer hear the sound of any human noise. 

He bent over and placed his hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath. Overhead, Orion glinted. 

This was possibly his last week of being alive, if he proceeded with his plan. 

***

Peter wrapped cold numbness around himself like a suit of armor. If he was going to get through the next week, he told himself, he couldn’t think about how confused Morgan would be when he didn’t come home, or how furious and devastated May would be when she learned what he had done. He couldn’t think about how Queens would decline when Spider-Man wasn’t there to stop crime anymore, or how Ned and MJ would go off to college without him in two years. 

Peter’s first task was to text Harley and tell Harley that he wanted to back out of the plan. 

He had to bank on the fact that Harley didn’t have the same information as him about the Soul Stone. Without knowing about the sacrifice on Vormir, Harley wouldn’t be able to do anything to bring Mr. Stark back, even if he did try to follow Steve back in time. And with any luck, Harley would give up if Peter did. After all, they’d barely formed any kind of plan since Harley’s failed sanctum break-in. 

_PP: Steve is returning the Stones on Saturday._

_PP: But I think—_

He was startled when Harley texted him back before he could even finish his second message. 

_HK: I think we should call it off. We don’t have enough info._

_PP: Wait, really?_

_HK: Yeah. I think you were right. I don’t think this is what Tony would’ve wanted us to do. And I think we should respect that. I don’t want to mess up the timeline._

Peter frowned at his phone. This was definitely suspicious. Harley had been the one leading them down this path from the get-go. Now _he_ wanted to back out at the last minute?

It worked well for Peter’s plan to ditch Harley and sneak after Steve alone, but...it was odd. He’d been expecting to have to fight Harley tooth and nail to prevent him from showing up at the compound. 

Morgan appeared in the doorway of his room, distracting him. 

“Can you read this book with me? It has a lot of big words.” She was holding up the first _Harry Potter_ book, which May and Happy had bought her as part of her birthday gift. 

“Morgan H. Stark!” Pepper called in a warning voice from down the hallway. “You better not be out of your bed!”

Morgan looked at Peter with wide eyes, obviously hoping he’d jump in and protect her from her bedtime. 

Peter had to look away. “Sorry, Momo. Maybe we can read it next week when I visit.”

***

He tapped on May and Happy’s door on Friday night, and he managed to hold himself together when May opened the door with a smile. She was wearing the llama pajamas he’d bought her for Christmas several years ago, the last Christmas Ben was alive. He wanted to fall into her arms and never leave the safety of her embrace. 

“What’s up, honey?” May asked with a smile. 

“I was wondering if Happy could drop me off at the compound tomorrow for a few hours. I want to see how the rebuild is going.”

Perhaps he’d said this too seriously, because May’s forehead wrinkled with concern. “Sure thing. But why the long face?” 

Peter shrugged. “Just...tough patrol today.” He wasn’t lying—he’d been in tears for half of his patrol, just thinking about how it was the last time that friendly neighborhood Spider-Man would be able to protect the residents of Queens.

May’s eyes softened with empathy. “You want to come in? We were about to start a new episode of _Schitt’s Creek._ But if you want to watch something different, you can pick. Or if you want it to just be you and me, I can make Harold go sleep on the couch.”

Peter needed to get away. Far, far away. If he stepped into May and Happy’s room, there was no way he’d be able to go to Vormir. He’d fall apart. He was already getting too close now. May was wearing her favorite pair of glasses, and Peter remembered how he’d sat on her glasses and broken them once, when he was eight. Ever the little engineer, he’d tried to fix them before she noticed, but he’d accidentally switched the lenses around, and May had almost walked into a wall when she’d put them on. 

He remembered how May had held his hand the first time he rode a roller coaster at Coney Island, how many nights of take-out and grief they’d shared after Ben’s death. 

“I think I’m going to turn in. But thanks anyway,” he managed. _Thanks for being my mom. Thanks for raising me, even though you have no blood relation to me._

“Okay, but if you change your mind, you get your ass in here.”

“I larb you, May,” he said softly. He flung himself into her arms and hugged her as hard as he could without it being painful. 

“Larb you too, honey,” May said, her smile slightly confused. 

If Morgan had the ability to make him crack, May had the ability to shatter him into a million tiny pieces.

***

Peter’s last day on earth was beautiful. It was almost like the weather was mocking him. The morning sunlight was golden and hazy. The breeze was unseasonably warm, and everywhere he looked, he saw hints of green, buds opening and leaves sprouting. The world coming back to life just as Peter went to his death. 

In the woods by the destroyed Avengers compound, Peter crouched in a tree, twenty or thirty feet above the ground. He hadn’t known what time they were planning to activate the quantum realm transporter, so he got there early to be on the safe side. He hadn’t bothered to pack anything, nor had he eaten breakfast. He was starting to regret that as one hour turned into two hours. His metabolism required frequent meals, but...he supposed it didn’t matter anymore if he skipped a meal. 

He swung his legs idly, lifting his face to the sunlight. In the distance, he thought he caught a familiar flash of gold. He strained to track the odd light, but everything was brown and yellow and green this time of year, and he quickly gave up. 

His plan was to hide in this tree until the moment the transporter was activated. Then he would use his web shooters to swing down onto the platform at the last second. If he timed it right, there would be no way for Steve or Bruce to stop him from being sucked into the past. He hadn’t figured out how he’d get the Soul Stone from Steve or how he’d get to Vormir yet, but he’d deal with that on the fly. 

It would be fine. It had to be fine. 

Peter’s internal clock told him that it was around noon when Bruce, Sam, Bucky, and Steve appeared. Steve was carrying a briefcase and Mjolnir. 

“Remember,” Bruce said as they walked into the clearing. “You have to return the Stones to the exact moment you got them or you’re going to open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.”

“Don’t worry,” Steve said. He looked serious. Determined. Tired. Everything Peter was feeling. And Peter had a sneaking suspicion that Steve had plans of his own with the Stones. 

“You ready to do this?” Bruce asked. 

“Actually…” Steve said, tilting his head slightly as though listening to the wind. “Could you guys give me a minute?”

Bruce, Bucky, and Sam all exchanged glances. 

“Sure,” Bruce said. He looked concerned. Perhaps Peter wasn’t the only one who’d noticed that something was off about Steve lately. “Take your time.”

Peter watched curiously as Steve simply stood, waiting for them to walk back towards the compound. 

After a long moment, Steve opened his mouth to speak. What came out of his mouth was not at all what Peter had been expecting. 

“I know you’re up there, Peter,” Steve stated calmly, staring right at Peter, perched high above the small clearing. “You want to follow me back in time and use the Soul Stone to sacrifice yourself on Vormir so Tony can come back to life, right?” 

Peter gaped down at him for a moment, so surprised that he almost fell out of the tree.

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter stammered, internally groaning. There was no point in pretending to hide from somebody who had enhanced hearing and sight.

“That’s not a very good hiding spot, Peter. Did you want me to find you and talk you out of doing this?”

“What? Enough with the psychoanalysis, dude. And you’re one to talk—you have your own mission with the Stones, don’t you, Cap?” Peter accused, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re going to go back to your own time and stay there. You’re going to get married and have kids and grandkids, and show up in the present as an old man, right?” 

Steve let out a low laugh. “So, that’s the conclusion you’ve come to?”

“Yeah, I figured it out a while ago,” Peter said defiantly. “You’ve been delaying your trip to return the Stones because you knew you’d have to say goodbye to everyone here and leave the team without a leader.”

Steve sighed. “Look, Peter, not to change the subject, but let’s talk about you here.”

“You can’t stop me from following you to Vormir,” Peter declared.

To his surprise, Steve’s face softened. “You’re right, son, I probably can’t. You’ve got a hell of a right hook nowadays.” He took a deep breath. “But I can ask you not to follow me.”

“I’m not your son,” Peter grumbled.

“No,” Steve agreed. “But you were Tony’s.”

He felt like he’d been kicked in the chest. 

Anger was easier than sadness. “Why should I listen to you?” He asked, glaring. “You hurt him. You left him in Siberia. You let him wield the gauntlet.”

“I know. And I regret all of those things every day.”

“Regret isn’t good enough! It’s not going to bring him back!”

“He wouldn’t want to come back like this, Peter.”

“Why the hell should I believe you?”

Steve’s smile was sad. “Because we both know that Tony would want you to stay safe.”

“You’re—you’re wrong!” Peter exclaimed. He was so agitated that he jumped down from the tree so that he could pace around the small clearing. “He let me do dangerous stuff; he let me be Spider-Man.”

Steve followed his movements with a compassionate expression. 

“Peter, I saw him when he came back from Titan. He was like a walking corpse. And then he tore the fabric of the universe apart so you could live. Above all else, he wanted you to be alive.” Peter didn’t understand how he could say it so easily, with such simple conviction. 

“Yeah, well...I didn’t ask him to tear the universe apart for me!” 

“You didn’t have to ask, Peter. He always would’ve done it, no matter what you thought about the matter.”

He was so tired of people telling him this. 

“Then I should do the same for him!” Peter yelled in anguish.

He kept thinking of the boy from _The Road,_ who had once asked his father about what would happen if the boy died. 

_“What would you do if I died?”_

_“If you died I would want to die too.”_

_“So you could be with me?”_

_“Yes. So I could be with you.”_

_“Okay.”_

He sank to his knees and buried his hands in his hair. 

Why was it okay for the father to follow the son if he died, but not the other way around? When the father had died in _The Road,_ the boy hadn’t been allowed to give up, because his father made him promise to keep going. He’d had to keep walking along the road, to warmth, to safety, to freedom. To the continuation of the human race. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t _fair._

“Tony was—he was reading this book—and—and I don’t know what to do, Steve!” Peter knew he wasn’t making sense, but he was suddenly terrified by the weight of the decision he had to make. “I want him back more than anything, but I don’t want to hurt him again by sacrificing myself to bring him back.”

“You were his kid, Peter,” Steve said quietly. He was gradually moving closer, as if Peter was a wild animal that might be spooked by sudden movement. “He was the one who was supposed to be making the sacrifices. Not you.” 

_Peter standing on the driveway—Is it better to be the one who dies, or the one who has to keep living?_

_“Help me,_ Steve,” Peter pleaded, tears running down his cheeks. “I don’t know what to do.”

_Rhodey’s compassionate eyes—It’s an act of great bravery sometimes, just to keep living when someone you love has died and you feel like it’s your fault._

Steve took one final step towards him. “Stay here, Peter.” He put one hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I know it’s the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do, to watch me walk away with the Stones. But stay here. Stay alive.”

“I can’t let him go,” Peter sobbed.

Steve looked pained. “I promise you, kid, it’s all going to be okay. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but it’s going to be okay.”

***

Peter stood mutely next to Sam Wilson. His eyes stung and his head ached from crying. He normally would’ve been embarrassed for the Avengers to see him like this, but he was too numb to care right now. 

They’d all been nice enough not to comment on Peter’s sudden appearance and his shouting match with Steve.

Bruce was back at the transporter, and he was fidgeting with wires, making last minute calculations and adjustments. Bucky and Steve were standing off to the side, speaking intently in whispers, their heads bent closely together. 

“Alright,” Bruce called. “It’s time.”

Steve tugged Bucky into an embrace for a long moment. Then they broke apart and Steve marched stiffly to the transporter, looking almost as if he was relying on his military training for the strength to proceed.

“Steve,” Peter called. “Good luck.” If Peter’s suspicions were right, Steve wasn’t going to reappear on the transporter pad when the countdown was up. He was going to be just like any other old man, living in a retirement community somewhere and filling his days with long walks and visits from his grandkids. 

Steve nodded at him reassuringly. “Thanks, Queens. Remember what I said. It’s all going to be okay.”

Steve looked away from Peter then, turning his gaze to Bucky, staring like he was memorizing the other man’s face. 

Bucky gave a small nod, something unfathomable and heavy in his eyes. 

“Going quantum in 3…” Bruce started to say.

Several things happened at once then.

Steve’s mask began to close over his face and the transporter began to make noise as it powered up. Peter felt a sudden flare in his spidey sense, and the jolt of adrenaline that ran through him made the world slow down and come into sharp focus. 

As a result, Peter noticed before anyone else that there were footsteps moving rapidly towards them. Some part of him, deep down, knew exactly who it was. 

So unlike everyone else, Peter wasn’t surprised when Harley Keener burst into the clearing, moving at a dead sprint. He leaped onto the platform just as Steve began to disappear. And Peter, suddenly knowing exactly what Harley planned to do, used the extra time his spidey sense afforded him and shot a web. 

His web wrapped neatly around Harley’s torso, and Peter felt a jerk as he was tugged along with it. 

The last thing he saw before he disappeared into the light of the quantum realm was Sam, Bucky, and Bruce’s horrified faces. 

***

When Peter opened his eyes again, all he could think of was not throwing up. By all appearances, they were in the exact same clearing as before, just without Bruce and Sam and Bucky and Steve. A bird chirped in a tree above, apparently undisturbed by witnessing time travel. 

“What the fuck, Parker!” Harley shouted near his ear. He was wrestling his way out of the webbing that Peter had wrapped around his chest. 

“I could say the same to you, Harley,” Peter grumbled, dusting himself off and dizzily pushing to his feet. Quantum travel was _weird._

“How did you find out about making a sacrifice to the Soul Stone?” Harley demanded, expression murderous.

“You first,” Peter said, lifting his chin. “You learned something in the sanctum and kept it from me, didn’t you?”

“Fine,” Harley snapped. He pulled out a small blade and cut through Peter’s webbing, something that was supposed to be next to impossible. “Yes, I read about it. In Dr. Strange’s book. Which was written in English, not runes.” He frowned at Peter. “Now you. How did _you_ find out?”

“I asked Rhodey about how Natasha died,” Peter said. He crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re not going to sacrifice yourself. I won’t let you.”

“Well, tough luck, Parker, because you’re not going to sacrifice yourself either.”

They stared at each other. 

“How the hell did you get to the compound?” Peter asked.

Harley held up a small device. It was familiar. 

Peter groaned. “Oh my god. You stole the sling-ring from Dr. Strange?”

“Okay, look, we both lied to each other. We both want to go to Vormir—”

“Actually,” Peter broke in. “I wasn’t going to follow Steve. He and I talked and I had decided to let the Stones go. I think I—I wanted him to catch me and talk me out of it. I had barely planned anything out. I just jumped on the transporter at the last second because I saw you there and I knew you planned to sacrifice yourself.”

“Yeah, well, Captain Douchebag can’t convince me to back out of this plan. And neither can you. So I’ll see you in some other dimension or lifetime.”

“Steve is right, Harley! Tony wouldn’t want us to do this.”

“I don’t listen to authority figures, Peter. Unlike you.”

“Yeah, but you could listen to _me_.”

Harley paused at that, and Peter felt a sliver of hope grow in his chest. 

It was short-lived, however, when Harley turned and started marching away. 

“You shouldn’t have come,” Harley grumbled. “Now you’re going to try to sacrifice yourself so I won’t, and this is going to get messy.”

“Where’s Steve?” Peter asked. “Why aren’t we with him?”

Harley looked like he didn’t want to talk to Peter. “...He got sucked into the transporter half a second before us,” he explained reluctantly. “In quantum time, that’s a lot. He’s probably already off returning the Stones. I have to get to Vormir before he does.”

“This is 2014, right?” Peter tried not to think about Ben, probably on his lunch break, sitting in his squad car in Queens. 

“See for yourself.” They had reached the edge of the woods. Harley pushed a few tree branches out of the way, and there was the compound. 

***

Tony was outside. _Tony was outside._

Peter immediately started to move forward. Harley grabbed him by the collar and jerked him back, breaking Peter out of his daze. 

“He doesn’t know you yet! It’s 2014, dude.”

“I don’t care,” Peter breathed, unable to look away. “I’ll pretend I’m a fan. Ask him for a hug.”

“Oh my god, Parker. He’s got horrible PTSD. If a stranger goes sprinting over to him, he’s going to call a suit and blast you with his repulsors. Just...you can stay here and look, but don’t do anything.”

_Don’t do anything I would do. And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. There’s a little gray area in there._

Tony was pacing back and forth on the lawn, talking on the phone. He looked stressed out. Peter wanted to drag him down to the lab and make him tea. Tony claimed to hate tea, but whenever Peter made it, he drank it. Behind Tony, the compound loomed, pristine and intact. Peter wondered if this was around the time when things with Steve began to fall apart.

Peter’s hands were shaking. Tony was here. He was breathing. He was wearing a soft red hoodie that was now in Peter’s possession at the lake house. He didn’t know Peter yet, but Peter could find some way to introduce himself. He could—he could find his younger self and explain everything to him, and then they could share this version of Tony. 

Yeah, sure, it was insane, it would change everything, but- 

“Can we just stay in 2014, Harley?” He asked wistfully.

Peter was so immersed in Tony, Tony, _Tony_ that it took him a second to notice when Harley didn’t respond. He whirled around, spidey sense tingling again. 

Harley had slipped away, taking advantage of Peter’s distraction. Peter’s sharp eyes instantly honed in on the light of a familiar golden portal back in the woods, however. 

“Harley!” He yelped. He knew that he was breaking the rules of time travel by drawing attention to himself, but he didn’t care. He yanked his sleeves up, making sure his web shooters were accessible. 

“Just stay here until Steve comes back from Vormir with our version of Tony!” Harley called back, exasperated. “The quantum realm transporter will pick you up in the clearing.”

“You’re not doing this!” Peter hissed, sprinting closer. The golden portal was almost ready, and if Harley passed through it alone, Peter didn’t think he’d ever come back. 

“Let me go, Peter! You’ll get Tony back, I promise.”

“You’re my brother, dumbass! I’m not going to let you die!” 

Harley dove through the portal just as Peter shot a web. The last thing Peter glimpsed was Tony, squinting into the woods with a confused expression, unaware that two of his kind-of-adopted children had just broken the laws of physics to be here and bring him back from his future death. 

***

“This is getting really old, Peter,” Harley huffed, ducking behind a rock to dodge Peter’s rapid volley of webs.

They were scrambling up a mountain on Vormir, which was insane. Peter had experienced a lot of bizarre, inexplicable things since he became Spider-Man, but this had to be near the top of the list. 

Just a few hours ago, he’d been sitting in a tree and looking down at the destroyed compound. Now he was in the past and on a different planet, trying to stop Harley from giving up his life. 

The sky on Vormir was vast and such a deep shade of black that Peter almost felt he might be sucked into it if he climbed too high. The mountains that surrounded them were jagged and irregular, far more sheer than even the Himalayas back on earth, and they were a shade of bluish-purple that seemed like a geological impossibility. 

The stars were so close on different planets. Peter was afraid to look down at his legs, terrified that they might begin turning into dust again. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t plan for every single second of this,” he retorted, shaking himself from the unpleasant memory of Titan. “You designed a knife that could cut through my webbing. You knew that seeing Tony at the compound would distract me. You had a contingency plan for me finding out and following you, didn’t you?”

He found himself suddenly reevaluating Harley’s break-in at Dr. Strange’s sanctum—his insistence on going alone, Peter’s own naivete. How had a non-enhanced sixteen-year-old bypassed a sorcerer’s security system? Why hadn’t he wondered more about that at the time?

Peter hadn’t given it much thought, but he was now almost certain that Harley had invented some kind of crazy cloaking technology to carry off his heist of the sling ring. Had he even gone after the information in Strange’s books, or had he already known that he was after the sling ring’s transportation abilities?

“Of course I had a contingency plan for you,” Harley scoffed, dodging another one of Peter’s webs. “And even though you’re still tagging along, I have more plans up my sleeve.”

Without further ado, Harley pulled out one of Tony’s gauntlets, yanked it on, and shot a repulsor beam at Peter, who was only able to dodge it because of his spidey sense. 

“What the hell, dude!” Peter yelped, diving behind a rock, which exploded in front of him. 

“Relax, it’s on a low setting,” Harley said, sounding slightly apologetic.

“Yeah, that doesn’t really make me feel any better,” Peter muttered. He jumped to his feet and resumed chasing after Harley, who moved fast for a non-enhanced person. 

“Steve!” Peter shouted for the umpteenth time, trying to catch the hero’s attention. Steve was up on the top of the mountain, a smudge of blue and red in the distance. He was facing away from them and hadn’t moved in several minutes. It was odd, but Peter didn’t have time to wonder what he was doing.

“Steve!” He yelled again. 

Once again, the wind whipped past and stole the sound of Peter’s shout. Vormir had a different atmospheric composition from earth, and the terrain was harsh and exposed. Peter’s agility and stickiness aided his climbing abilities, but his spider powers were actually slowing him down in these conditions. It was cold - colder than Peter’s body could comfortably handle. He’d packed his suit, but he didn’t have time to put it on without Harley getting too far ahead of him. 

To make matters worse, his bones were lighter than a normal human’s bones, which meant he weighed less. With every step he took forward, the wind pushed him half a step back. What would’ve normally been an easy climb up the mountain felt like a race through a nightmare, running as fast as he could but not going anywhere, screaming but no sound coming out. 

“Please, Harley,” he called. He needed to save his breath, and it wasn’t like Harley had shown any signs of listening to Peter, but—he had to try. 

“Let me do this for you, Peter!” Harley shouted back. He was fiddling with the gauntlet, moving slightly slower than before. Maybe Peter could keep him talking, keep him in one place, web him up, and steal that stupid knife so he couldn’t free himself.

“You don’t understand!” Harley continued. “You—look, I know you’ve lost a ton of people. But you have your aunt, and Pepper, and that Happy guy, and Morgan, and your friends. I have—I had nobody but Tony. It’s not—I don’t want to die. But I know that I’m the right person to do this.”

“No!” Peter shouted. “You have me! And Pepper and Morgan love you; they just don’t know you very well. But they’re always saying that they hope you come and visit—”

“It’s not the same, Peter,” Harley said, turning around to look at Peter and shaking his head. “It’s not the same, and you know it.”

He seized the moment and shot a web, but Harley pressed a button on the gauntlet and Peter was forced to watch in horror as an Iron Man suit began to form around Harley.

Harley had really planned for everything. 

“No,” Peter said. “No, no—”

“When you see Tony, tell him—”

“No! I’m not telling him anything! Harley—”

But it was too late. The Iron Man suit shot off towards the top of the mountain. Harley was going to get to Steve first. And with the suit on, he actually stood a good chance of stealing the Soul Stone.

***

Peter swung to the top of the mountain faster than he had ever swung before. He was being dangerous, he knew that. He didn’t know how strong the rocks were on this planet. If one of his webs slipped or didn’t catch, Peter would plunge into the mists below. And since he didn’t have his suit on, he wouldn’t have a parachute to slow him down. 

Nonetheless, he gritted his teeth and pushed on. Surely Steve could easily hold Harley at bay, even if Harley did have one of Tony’s suits. 

_After all, he was certainly able to hold his own against Mr. Stark’s suit in Siberia,_ a bitter voice whispered. 

He brushed it aside. He needed to stop thinking of Steve as the enemy, because right now, he was the only thing that stood in between Harley and the Stone. 

He aimed a web at the edge of a nearby cliff, ignoring how his spidey sense flared at the risk. If he had his suit on, he knew Karen would be lecturing him about only relying on solid surfaces to support his weight. Tony had programmed her with lots of annoying, endearing safety facts and reminders. 

Tony.

Peter swung so fast that he felt like he might dislocate his shoulders. He was done with this. He was done watching the people he loved die. He was tired of being too late to save his family. He wasn’t going to let Harley go, even if it meant giving up his chance of bringing Mr. Stark back. 

He was almost there; he was so close—

The edge of a cliff that he’d webbed crumbled and Peter felt a sharp jolt as he began to fall. 

“ _No!”_ He gasped, furious tears burning his eyes. He wasn’t going to make it in time. He was going to fail again—

As he began to plummet, he found himself reminded of the Vulture, of when the building had fallen on him, and he’d screamed and felt so alone, and he’d known that he was going to die there and nobody would ever find his body or know what happened to him. 

But he’d survived that, even without his suit. He was Spider-Man. He was _Spider-Man._ He wasn’t going to let his brother die. 

Instead of shooting webs frantically as he fell and hoping one of them would catch, he leaned his body towards the sheer face of the mountain. For once, his light weight helped him, the wind dutifully blowing him perilously close to the towering wall of jagged obsidian rock.

Peter reached out with one hand, planting it on the rocks. His body was still falling, and his shoulder jerked uncomfortably, but the stickiness of his fingertips held his weight. He quickly slapped his other palm on the cliff face, following with both of his feet. 

Adrenaline buzzed in his head. He didn’t stop to contemplate how close he’d come to falling or being dashed into the face of the mountain. 

He just kept climbing. 

***

He wasn’t sure what he expected to see when he reached the top of the mountain, but it wasn’t Steve and Harley frozen in place with a frightening-looking man standing in between them and looking vaguely bored. 

Steve’s mouth was open like he’d been mid-sentence, and the Iron Man helmet was open so that Peter could see the slightly frightened look frozen on Harley’s face. 

“Ah, good,” the man said in a slightly accented voice. “Took you longer than I expected to get up here, but now that you’re here, we can get started.” 

He clapped his hands together, looking pleased. Peter’s spidey sense flared again. His stomach churned with disgust as he abruptly realized that the man’s scarlet mask wasn’t a mask at all - this guy had no skin on his face. His head was just...a bright red skull. 

_Red Skull._ The name was vaguely familiar, but Peter couldn’t quite remember why. 

“What did you do to them?” Peter asked fiercely, inching towards Harley. He subtly raised his wrist to shoot a web at the red guy. 

To his horror, he was instantly frozen into place before he could get a shot off. 

“Sorry to freeze you, Little Spider, but I have some things to say before we begin this delightful exercise.”

Peter could only blink and suck in air through his nose. He began to panic, feeling claustrophobic. 

“Oh, very well,” Red Guy sighed. He waved his hand, and Peter felt the invisible force holding him in place relax slightly. “I suppose this will be more interesting if you can all talk.”

All three of them began to speak at once. 

“Who the hell is this guy, Captain Douchebag?” Harley asked Steve. 

“Let them go, Red Skull, I’m telling you—”

“Steve, you have to stop Harley! He’s trying to get the Stone and sacrifice himself for Tony!”

“Isn’t this fun?” Red Skull laughed, and the sound sent shivers down Peter’s spine. 

“Ugh, I sense an evil villain monologue coming on,” Harley groaned. 

“They have nothing to do with this, Red Skull. This is between you and me—” Steve continued urgently. 

Red Skull ignored both of them. 

“Isn’t it interesting?” He began. 

Peter rolled his eyes, catching Harley’s eye. _Classic bad guy monologue._

“All three of you have come here to make a bargain with me.” He turned to Peter and Harley. “Since you two don’t know me, I’ll introduce myself. I am Red Skull, the keeper of the Soul Stone. I was sent here as a punishment from a world that simply wasn’t advanced enough to appreciate my contributions to science—”

“He’s the former head of HYDRA,” Steve interjected shortly. “I knew him during World War II. He was a Nazi—”

“Ew, gross,” Peter and Harley chorused in unison. 

“Kindly remember,” Red Skull said, voice dropping dangerously. “That I have the power to stop you all from talking again. Or breathing, if I feel like it. And then nobody gets what they came here for.”

They all shut up. 

“Now, as I was saying,” Red Skull said, beginning to pace between them. “You can imagine what a delightful surprise it was to see Rogers here and hear that he wanted to bargain with me.”

Peter frowned. What did Steve want to bargain with Red Skull for? He was just here to return the Soul Stone, not do anything with it. Maybe he wanted to bring back Natasha? Peter shot Steve a questioning look, only for Steve to uncharacteristically avoid his gaze.

“Ah,” Red Skull observed, looking at Steve. “They do not know what you came here to bargain for, do they? That only makes this more delightful for me.” His smile made Peter’s gut churn nervously. 

“You have to remember that Rogers is responsible for sending me here after the Tesseract...incident,” Red Skull continued. 

“You touched the Tesseract by yourself,” Steve muttered. 

“And you also have to remember that I was finally freed from my duty as the Soulkeeper when Thanos gained the Soul Stone a few years ago—or rather, in the future, depending on how you view the timeline.”

Peter felt his blood run cold. When they had defeated Thanos—

“Ah, yes, I see the Little Spider understands. When your little group of ‘heroes,’” he sneered the word, “defeated Thanos, you undid my liberation. And so now I am here once again. And if I take the Stone back from Rogers, I must continue to be the Soulkeeper.” He steepled his fingers together, looking thoughtful. Peter suddenly realized why the color seemed familiar—Morgan had a tub of Play-doh in the exact same red color as Red Skull’s skin. 

“And yet...I confess that I have come to enjoy my power as the Soulkeeper. The past—or future—years have been very interesting. It was certainly a fun day when I received that visit from Barton and Romanoff—”

“Don’t talk about her!” Peter shouted, temper flaring. “Don’t you dare say her name—”

“I like this one, Rogers,” Red Skull said, turning to Steve. “It will be fun to watch you try to save him.”

Peter snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t like the sound of that. 

“Anyway,” Red Skull continued magnanimously. “I think I will accept the Stone back from you, Rogers. But...let’s raise the stakes a little bit, shall we?” He uncurled Steve’s frozen fingers and nimbly plucked the Soul Stone out of them. 

A familiar orange glow filled the clifftop as soon as Red Skull had the Stone again. Peter felt a cold sweat break out over his entire body. This was the color that haunted his nightmares. He’d seen an apartment with orange holiday lights strung up on the balcony last month during a patrol and he’d almost thrown up at the sight. 

With an easy wave of his hand, Red Skull created a concentrated beam of orange light at the back of the cliff. It looked almost like a transporter beam from _Star Trek._ The wind began to pick up, almost imperceptibly at first, but growing stronger by the moment. Peter could only clench his jaw and hope that he wouldn’t simply be swept off the cliff and down into the abyss below. 

“Now, I am going to unfreeze the three of you. Whoever steps into the beam first gets to negotiate with me. It’s the same terms as always—I will take your life, and I will restore the soul of your choice.”

“They’re kids, Red Skull,” Steve said, practically pleading. “They want their dad back. They’re not thinking clearly. You can’t—you can’t do this.”

“This is on you, Rogers,” Red Skull said, shrugging. “If you don’t want one of them to sacrifice themselves, you have to stop them. Otherwise, their blood is on your hands.” From the way he was smirking at Steve, Peter could tell that this was the real point of this activity: for Steve to watch one of them die and feel responsible in the aftermath when Tony returned. 

“It’s okay, Steve,” Peter called. “Let’s just focus on stopping Harley.”

But Steve’s gaze was a little too knowing. And Peter could admit to himself that his earlier resolve to leave Tony’s death alone was dissipating quickly now that the beam of light was only a few hundred feet away from him. Other than the color, it didn’t look too scary or painful. It would be much less frightening than he’d been imagining. He and Steve could block Harley, and then Peter could slip around them both. It would be as easy as just walking right into the light, and then Harley and Morgan and Pepper could have Tony back—

“Hey, no table talk,” Harley muttered, his sharp eyes darting around the clearing, making plans and calculations. 

“I think the odds are evenly matched, wouldn’t you all agree? Two enhanced, one in a suit. Nobody can say that the Soulkeeper is not merciful and fair," Red Skull smiled, showing his teeth.

“Peter,” Steve called. “Please, remember what we talked about.” It was strange to see fear in Captain America’s eyes. 

Peter ignored him. He would do what he needed to do. Stop Harley first, and then—

_Tony. Pepper’s face when she saw her husband again. Morgan’s happiness. May’s grief._

Warmth began to flow through his limbs and Red Skull reversed whatever he’d done to them earlier. 

As soon as he was able, Harley shot off towards the sky like a rocket, Peter diving after him.

***

This time, he didn’t waste his breath trying to argue with Harley. He shot web after web, but Harley was skilled at dodging them, and anytime a web hit, he used that damn knife to quickly cut it before Peter could paralyze him and bring him back to earth. 

Still, he was at least slowing Harley down. For all of Harley’s ability to hack the suit, he still was unfamiliar with flying, and his movements were uncoordinated and just slightly panicky at times. Peter took advantage of that fact, firing his webs so rapidly that he knew a non-enhanced person had almost no chance of keeping up. 

Steve had taken off running, presumably since he didn’t really have any weapons that were suited to fight somebody in the air. 

Harley shot a repulsor beam at Peter, and his aim was getting better. There were no rocks to hide behind this time, and Peter was forced to backflip to avoid being blasted. This gave Harley a few seconds free of Peter’s constant attacks, and Peter watched in horror as Harley shot another repulsor blast at Steve, hitting his mark. 

Steve crumpled to the ground. Peter was certain he wouldn’t be down long, but Harley’s access to the beam was now clear. 

Peter took off at a dead sprint. He had to get there before Harley. _Keep going,_ he told himself as his lungs burned and his muscles ached and threatened to give out beneath him. He ran past Steve’s prone form, but he could see that Harley was still ahead of him in the sky. _Just step into the orange light. This is when you are most alive. When you are brave, when you save others. When you make sacrifices. Keep going, keep going._

So he ran a little harder, trying to be faster and stronger than the truth that he knew, deep down, but refused to acknowledge. He wasn’t most alive when his heart was pumping furiously and his limbs were flying across the dark mountain, using his spider powers to the fullest extent and risking his life. He was most alive when dancing with his mom in the kitchen, laughing at Austin Powers with Ben and May, walking home from school with Ned and MJ. Saving the people of Queens from muggings and robberies. Helping Morgan find constellations. 

Tony’s hand on his shoulder, Tony’s arms around him as he turned to dust. 

Steve jumped to his feet and threw his shield at Harley. Harley twisted to dodge, but the shield clipped him hard on the shoulder, and he plummeted to the ground, landing with an awful crunching sound. Peter winced, but he knew the suit would protect him from too many injuries. 

Peter webbed him up, grinning triumphantly. He ran over and grabbed Harley’s knife so that he couldn’t free himself from the webs. 

“No!” Harley shouted, furious, writhing against his bonds. 

Peter turned and resumed his run towards the orange light. 

He was getting close now—fifty feet. Forty feet. Thirty—

Sharp pain exploded in his side, and Peter went sprawling toward the ground. He caught a flash of something blue and red before his knees gave out. Steve’s shield. 

He wasn’t going to make it. 

_No._ He was Spider-Man. He began to crawl, his ribs white hot with each gasping breath. 

His arms and legs were shaking. _Thirty feet. Twenty-five feet._

He fell to the ground, darkness swallowing him.

***

There had been a fire once. 

It was Christmas Eve, and Peter and Mr. Stark were the last ones awake. 

Pepper had convinced May that she and Peter should spend Christmas at the Tower with her, Mr. Stark, Happy, Rhodey, and Vision. Since May and Peter had no other family to visit, May had acquiesced.

Everyone else had gone to bed when Peter and Tony insisted on watching _Die Hard._

“It’s not a Christmas movie!” May argued, quickly leaving before Tony and Peter could launch a counterattack. 

“Rude!” Peter shouted after her. 

“Disgraceful!” Tony echoed indignantly. 

They both laughed and settled in, sinking further into the couch cushions. Snowflakes drifted down outside, and a huge Christmas tree stood in the corner of the room, a massive pile of gifts spilling out from under it. A fire crackled quietly in the fireplace. It was basically a Christmas scenario out of a movie. 

Peter felt his great mood begin to flag during the movie, however. Christmas was like this for him sometimes. Ever since his parents had died, holidays felt like more of a reminder of what he was missing than a celebration of what he had. 

With Ben being gone this year, that ache was sharper than ever. 

“You okay, Underoos?” Mr. Stark asked, his voice breaking through Peter’s thoughts. 

Peter blinked, suddenly realizing that the movie was over. The TV screen was black. Mr. Stark was eyeing him with concern. 

“Yeah,” Peter said, offering a small smile. “I’m okay...just. You know. I miss Ben.”

Mr. Stark nodded. “Yeah, I bet you do. What did you guys used to do on Christmas?”

Peter’s smile grew wistful. “We’d...we’d go to one of those overpriced tree farms and cut down a tree on Christmas Eve, even though I had asthma and I couldn’t really help Ben much with the chopping or carrying. Then Ben would make this amazing dinner. May had to work on Christmas Eve a lot, so it was usually just Ben and I. And then...we’d watch _Die Hard_ together.”

“Oh,” Mr. Stark said softly. “Was this okay, Pete?” He asked seriously, motioning to the TV. 

Peter nodded quickly. “Of course, Mr. Stark! It was really nice to keep the tradition alive. Just...thank you. For all of this.” He gestured towards the tree, where he was sure Mr. Stark had several embarrassingly expensive gifts waiting for him.

He just hoped May had been able to talk him out of buying Peter a car. 

“You don’t have to thank me, kid,” Mr. Stark grumbled. 

They lapsed into comfortable silence for a moment. It was kind of surreal that Peter was sitting next to Tony Stark on Christmas Eve at 1 in the morning. He kept talking, where he normally would’ve made himself shut up.

“Mr. Stark,” he began hesitantly. “It’s okay if you don’t want to answer this question. It’s just...you know how people who have near-death experiences talk about the light at the end of the tunnel and stuff? And how scientific studies have shown that those feelings are associated with chemicals that the brain releases to soothe you when you’re dying? So, it might be more of a neurochemical reaction than a spiritual experience—” 

“What’s the question, bud?” Mr. Stark interrupted him gently. 

“What do you think happens after people die?” Peter blurted. 

After all, Mr. Stark was a man of science, too. If he thought nothing happened after death, he would surely tell Peter without sugarcoating it. 

Peter stared into the flames, intently watching them dance. 

“I haven’t given it much thought, Pete. It’s kind of funny, for all the times I’ve almost died, you’d think I’d have thought about it more.”

“Sorry,” Peter said quickly. “It’s a stupid question.”

“No, it’s not,” Tony said firmly, nudging Peter’s knee with his own. “I don’t really think that there’s a scientific way to measure or calculate what happens to us after we die. So...maybe it’s just peace and quiet. Or maybe our souls stay intact and they go somewhere nice. But...whatever it is, I don’t think it’s anything bad, Pete.”

And there was no real reason that Peter should trust this opinion. After all, Mr. Stark had admitted that his thoughts had no basis in science. But...he couldn’t deny that he felt comforted all the same, much like he had when Ben used to hold him after a nightmare, rocking him in his arms and whispering a steady mantra of _I’ve got you_ and _I’m here_ and _It’s going to be okay_ in the darkness _._

“Thanks, Mr. Stark,” Peter said. The light from the flames flickered over Mr. Stark’s face, and he couldn’t help thinking that this was the most human he’d ever seen his mentor, sitting with a snowman-themed blanket draped over his lap in the middle of the night and answering Peter’s questions about the deepest secrets of the universe.

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” Tony said, placing an arm around Peter’s shoulders and looking thoughtful. “I mean, who knows...the universe is a strange place, right?”

***

Peter scrambled to his knees. His ribs ached, but he could feel his healing already trying to fix them. Harley was still down on the ground, but he was—

He was _dissolving Peter’s webs._ Peter gaped in amazement as Harley poured the contents of a small vial over his suit. The webs began to disappear within seconds, and Harley tossed the vial aside. 

Harley had somehow engineered a dissolution formula for Peter’s webs, something Peter had barely managed after two years of trying. His genius would definitely rival Tony’s one day. 

Peter looked at the orange beam. It was only twenty-five feet away. To go after Harley would mean putting more distance between himself and the beam, but—Harley could fly. And saving Harley was the number one priority here, he reminded himself. _Harley first, then Tony._

Before the webs could fully dissolve, Peter took off running away from the beam. Just as Harley took off towards the sky, Peter leaped and landed on his back, so that Harley was forced to carry him in an odd sort-of piggyback. 

“Get off, Parker!” Harley hissed. He sounded exhausted and out of breath. “Only one of us can enter the beam. Get your own ride!”

Peter just clung tighter, using his stickiness to anchor himself to the Iron Man suit. He desperately tried not to think about how he’d once done this with Mr. Stark, after he’d gotten a nasty concussion on patrol. His memories of that night were fuzzy, but he knew Karen had called Mr. Stark, and Mr. Stark had shown up to find Peter laying on his back in an alleyway and passionately reciting the Jedi Code to the criminals he’d just webbed up. 

“Alright, hop on, Spider-Baby,” Mr. Stark had said, sounding torn between laughter and concern. “But if you tell anyone I gave you a piggyback ride, I’m taking the suit away again.”

Harley tried to shake him loose, but Peter’s stickiness held fast. 

Harley was flying them closer and closer to the orange light. Peter knew that he had only a few seconds left to stop him. He fumbled around, grabbing Harley’s left wrist. This was his last resort, and Peter wasn’t even sure if it would work, but he had to try. 

Harley grunted and wrenched his arm away from Peter, but Peter still managed to press his thumb against a small button on the seam of the gauntlet, praying that Tony had kept Peter’s access intact after the snap, like the lab door at the lake house. 

He, Pepper, Rhodey, and Bruce had been the only ones with external access to the suit. After Tony had been seriously injured on a mission with Rhodey and Rhodey had been unable to open Tony’s suit to get him to safety, Pepper and Rhodey had staged an intervention and forced Tony to implement a protocol that would allow a few close allies to get him out of the suit for medical attention. The small button had been Tony’s concession after a tense week of negotiations. (Peter remembered it distinctly, because Mr. Stark had invited him over for two extra lab sessions that week, a sure sign that he was stressed out or avoiding a request from Pepper.)

When the suit recognized his thumbprint, opening and dutifully ejecting Harley, he thought about how some part of Tony must have always hoped that Peter would come home. 

And then he wasn’t thinking about that anymore, because Harley was plummeting to the earth below.

***

Peter used both web shooters at once, shooting one web at Harley’s falling form, now clad in his usual jeans and t-shirt rather than the imposing metal of the Iron Man suit. His other web went...nowhere. They were already at the top of the mountain, and there was nothing for Peter to catch onto in order to slow their fall. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” Peter hissed under his breath. He grabbed the web that attached him to Harley and tugged on it sharply, grabbing Harley’s weight to slow his fall. Then he streamlined his body so that he was falling faster, so that he could cushion Harley’s fall as much as possible. He grabbed Harley’s arm, making sure to angle his body beneath Harley’s, the ground growing closer and closer—

The impact was brutal. At the very last second, Peter remembered to use his free arm to cushion the back of his head. The back of Harley’s head clunked against his sternum, knocking all the air from Peter’s lungs. They rolled to a stop in a tangle of limbs. 

Harley flopped off of him clumsily, but the fact that he was moving at all was encouraging to Peter. He had survived much worse as Spider-Man, and while he knew he’d be hobbling and sore for the foreseeable future, he could already tell that he hadn’t received any particularly serious injuries. 

It still took him a long moment before he was able to catch his breath and speak. “Harley,” he gasped, frowning. His spidey sense was still tingling, and it was growing stronger by the second. But that didn’t make sense, because Harley was pushing himself into a standing position, with no visible blood or twisted limbs. 

“Harley,” he gasped again, massaging his chest and clambering to his feet. He put one hand on Harley’s shoulder, but Harley was staring sightlessly ahead, his expression horrified. 

“You...okay…?” Peter managed to get out. 

Harley lifted one shaking hand and pointed towards the beam of light. 

Peter whirled around, and the feeling of dread intensified. 

“NO!” Peter screamed, staring uncomprehendingly as Steve Rogers walked straight into the orange light and disappeared forever. 

***

The wind instantly stopped, and the beam faded before their eyes. 

“Oh my god,” Harley exhaled, his fists clenching in his hair, making it stand up in odd tufts. “Oh my god, we killed Captain America. Oh, fuck-”

He bent over, placing his hands on his knees and looked like he was about to either throw up or pass out. 

Peter had never seen Harley so rattled before, but he understood. The same shock and guilt paralyzed him. He knew that he would never forget the look of calm acceptance on Steve’s face before he had disappeared, that he would carry the knowledge forever that Steve had sacrificed himself so that Harley or Peter wouldn’t sacrifice themselves. 

And yet…

“I think…” Peter said slowly, a sickening realization dawning on him. “Harley, I think he always meant to do it. I think he was planning to bargain for Tony’s life all along.”

He was suddenly flooded by memories from the past few months.

_Bruce and Sam, voices filled with concern._

_“Steve, you need to return the stones before something happens to them!”_

_“I know, Bruce, I’ll do it...I just...I need a few months. Just to recover from all of this. I swear, I’ll do it then.”_

***

_Steve and Bucky at Morgan’s birthday party, sitting by the lake, Steve’s blond hair illuminated by starlight._

_Their knees touching, in a world of their own. When they stood to come sing Happy Birthday, Peter thought he saw their hands brush together._

_***_

_Peter, his arms crossed over his chest._

_“That’s hypocritical—you’re going to go back to your own time and stay there, aren’t you? Get married and have some kids and grandkids, and show up in the present as an old man?”_

_Steve, letting out a low laugh. “So, that’s the conclusion you’ve come to?”_

_***_

_Bucky giving Steve a small nod when Steve stepped onto the quantum realm transponder, something deep and knowing in his eyes._

_***_

“It’s—I think that’s why he was waiting so long to return the Stones. He was—” Peter’s voice broke. 

_He was seizing a small window of happiness. He was spending time with Bucky, finally being with him, without any wars or death or global crises to keep them apart. He was—_

“He was saying goodbye,” Peter whispered. And Peter only knew a fraction of what had transpired between Steve and Tony over the years, but he thought he understood. “I think he wanted to—to do this. To give Tony another chance. For Pepper and Morgan and for us. For Tony.”

“Fuck,” Harley said, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “ _Fuck._ God, what a self-sacrificing _idiot—”_

Peter snorted. “I have to say, I think our actions today prove that we both also fit into the category of ‘self-sacrificing idiots.’”

He managed to say this with a grin, but his hands were shaking, and he couldn’t get them to stop. 

Steve was gone. 

Steve, who had carried a sketchbook with him everywhere but never shown anyone his drawings. Steve, who had kept an eye on Peter from afar ever since Tony’s death, training with him, preventing him from sacrificing himself. Steve, who had made everyone feel safe when they were near him. 

Harley suddenly looked very young, back in his usual clothes, his blond hair sticking up oddly near his ear. “Do you...do you think it worked? I mean...Red Skull obviously wanted it to be one of us who gave our life, right? Is he going to honor the deal with Steve?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, suddenly exhausted. He pulled his suit on over his clothes and turned the heater on. 

By unspoken agreement, they both slumped to the ground where they stood. Neither of them spoke for a long time. 

Peter rested his head on his backpack. “Hey, Harley, you want to go on a road trip with me this summer?” He murmured. “I was thinking California.”

“Sure,” Harley mumbled back. “Only if we can go to DisneyLand, though.”

“Yeah, `course.” Peter’s eyes drifted shut. “DisneyLand first, then Yosemite.”

“Hey, c’n you drive, Pete?” Harley asked. 

“Nah.”

“Me neither.”

“Guess we’ll have to bring somebody else with us so they can do the driving,” Peter murmured. 

Harley snored in response. Peter pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up and drifted off to sleep.

***

There was a familiar hand tenderly smoothing the hair back from his forehead.

And Peter felt like he cried constantly nowadays, but it was still odd that his closed eyes instantly filled with tears when the fingers, warm and calloused, slid down to cup his cheek. 

He _knew_ this hand. He _missed_ this hand. 

“May?” He mumbled sleepily, because who else could it be? 

Everyone else who loved him like this was gone. 

There was a rumble of laughter then, deeper than May’s voice. 

“Only my kid could fall asleep in the middle of Vormir and mistake this hellscape for his bed.”

Peter went rigid at the sound of that familiar voice. 

“That’s it, Pete. Let me see those baby browns, okay?”

_No no no no no no no no—_

Peter couldn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t bear to wake up and inevitably see that he was in his room at May’s apartment or his room at the lake house or the lab. 

It had been a long time since Mr. Stark had visited his dreams like this, kind and warm. Each time he awoke from one of these dreams, it was like he experienced the blow of Mr. Stark’s death all over again, just as vividly as when it had actually happened that day during the battle. 

He thought he could even hear the man’s familiar heartbeat, the rhythmic thumping just slightly off. 

“No,” he mumbled. He brought his hands up to his ears and pressed down on them hard, trying to block out the sound around him that was dragging him from the dream. It didn’t work, of course, thanks to his super hearing. The tears spilled over and his breath hitched. “Please, no, no.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” the voice soothed. “It’s okay, Spider-Kid. I’ve got you. I’m here.”

“Please,” Peter begged. He squeezed his eyes even tighter, as if that could keep him from waking up. It wasn’t helping, though, and he could feel awareness creeping back in no matter how hard he tried to hold it off. 

“Help your old man out here. What do you need, _bambino?”_

Against his own volition, Peter blinked. Mr. Stark had never called him _bambino_ before. Why was it happening now in his dream? 

He caught only a glimpse of the world around him. Ominous black stone, a bluish-purple sky, and a dark figure kneeling next to him. 

_Vormir. The Soul Stone. Steve._

“Mr. Stark,” he whimpered. “ _Mr. Stark.”_

This was normally the part where he’d wake up, gasping, tears running down his face. If May was home, he’d shove his face into his pillow to sob so that she wouldn’t wake up. 

He blinked again, but the dream wasn’t fading. Mr. Stark was kneeling next to him, his eyes crinkled in concern. It was...odd. The Mr. Stark in front of him had gray hair near his temples, just like he had on the battlefield when he died. The Tony of Peter’s dreams always appeared like Peter had known him before the snap—dark hair, carefully neutral facial expression. That Tony—you had to know him well to be able to read his microexpressions; to understand what he was thinking and feeling. This Tony’s face was open and gentle, looking more like Morgan’s dad than Iron Man. 

“Mr. Stark…” Peter whispered, suddenly sitting straight up. “Your arm—”

Mr. Stark’s left arm—the arm that had wielded the Infinity Gauntlet—was gone below the shoulder. 

That had also never happened in his dreams before. 

“A small price to pay for reversing the snap,” Tony answered calmly, his remaining hand returning to Peter’s hair, brushing curls off his forehead.

Peter stared. 

“Your hair’s getting long, bud. Gonna need a haircut soon, huh?”

Peter wasn’t sure why this was the comment that made him burst into ugly sobs and launch himself forward at Dream Mr. Stark. He flung his arms around the vision’s neck, fingers desperately scrabbling for purchase against the back of the man’s t-shirt. If this was a dream, he at least wanted this moment for himself. 

The vision didn’t fade. The arm that wrapped around him in response was solid. Peter’s nose pressed against Mr. Stark’s neck, and he could hear the man’s pulse thrum. 

He could smell motor oil and aftershave. The tears burned in his throat. 

“Is...is this real?” He whispered, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. If it wasn’t, he didn’t want to see the vision dissipate. He felt like he could barely breathe. 

“Yeah, bud. Steve...Steve brought me back. It’s Tony. I’ve got you, kid. I’ve got you. You deliberately mismatch all of your socks. You love swimming, but you’re terrible at it. I know you, I’ve got you.”

“Mr. Stark,” Peter cried, crowding even closer. “You—the arc reactor light...it went out. I h-heard your heart stop beating.” His tears had risen to the level of full-on wailing at this point, the type of crying Peter hadn’t done in years. 

“Okay, wow,” he heard Tony mumble to himself. “First order of business—designing a prosthetic arm so I can properly hug my traumatized children.” Tony was rocking them slightly back and forth, much like he probably rocked Morgan on rough nights. 

After a moment, he gently pushed Peter back, grabbing onto one of Peter’s hands and pressing it to his chest. 

_Thump-thump, pause. Thump-thump, pause._

The familiar rhythm. Something he could never forget, like the way May’s nose scrunched when she laughed, or how Ned talked in his sleep. 

Real. This was real. His brain couldn't make this up. 

“Don’t leave again,” Peter whispered, anxiously twisting the hem of his t-shirt with his fingers. “Don’t leave, please.”

Mr. Stark’s hand stilled Peter’s fingers. “Never, _bambino._ Steve…” He let out a sad sigh. “Steve brought me back, and now you’re stuck with me forever. After all, I just got you and Harley back from the blip. I’m not going anywhere.”

He lifted his hand to motion for Harley, who Peter now noticed was awake and staring at them with wide, wet eyes, to join the pile-up. Harley didn’t need any further invitation, darting forward and flinging one arm around Tony and the other around Peter. 

They stayed like that, silent, for a long time.

***

Steve’s shield was sitting on the ground next to Harley’s backpack. Peter swallowed back the fresh wave of guilt and sorrow that came with remembering. 

He’d ducked out of the hug to give Harley and Tony a minute to reunite alone. They were speaking in low tones with one another, and Peter had wandered away so that his super hearing wouldn’t invade their privacy. 

He knelt down next to the shield, remembering the first time he had seen it in person, in the airport in Germany. It felt like a lifetime ago. 

“He asked me to pass the shield on to Sam,” Tony said quietly, placing his hand on Peter’s shoulder. Harley stood at his other shoulder. 

“You—you saw him?” Peter asked, eyes wide. 

Tony nodded. “Only for a moment. He was...adamant that I not blame the two of you for trying to bring me back. He seemed...at peace with his decision.”

Peter felt nauseous. 

“We never meant for him to sacrifice himself, honest,” Harley said fervently. 

“I know,” Tony said. “He would’ve done it regardless of whether the two of you were here or not. He told me as much.”

Peter’s throat was tight. _But would he have?_ He wanted to say. _Would Steve have gone through with it if he was here alone, or would he have backed out like I did?_

“Bucky is going to be alone again,” he whispered instead. He picked up the shield, holding it carefully, reverently. He would carry it back and hand it to Sam. It was the least he could do. 

Tony shook his head. “No, he won’t. We’ll all be there for him.”

Germany really _had_ been a lifetime ago, it seemed. 

“Anyway, you’re both grounded for the next 40 years for pulling this stunt.”

“Excuse you,” Harley said in mock indignation. “But we literally helped bring you back from the dead, in case you didn’t notice. You’re going to _ground us_? You owe us $50 in Greyhound tickets.”

“And $15 for snacks and bandages,” Peter piped up, mustering up a half-smile.

“I knew it would be a bad idea to introduce the two of you to each other,” Tony sighed, but he was grinning, looking between the two of them as if he couldn’t believe that he was seeing them both together. “Anyway, how are we going to get off of this godforsaken planet?”

“Uh...I might have temporarily borrowed this teleportation device from Dr. Strange?” Harley said, pulling the sling ring out of his pocket raising his voice into a question to soften the blow. “Also...uh, while we’re confessing things, I may have hacked one of your suits?”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose with his good hand. “Never mind, you’re grounded for 80 years. And therapy. Therapy for all of us. _You_ get a therapy. And _you_ get a therapy—”

***

The following hours felt like a series of snapshots. 

First, Bruce and Sam’s comically shocked expressions when they stepped off the quantum realm transporter. Their joy at seeing Tony and their grief at learning about Steve’s sacrifice on Vormir. Bucky, his face expressionless, turning away and walking off into the woods by himself. 

Bruce calling Happy and telling him to get to the Compound ASAP. Happy, honest-to-god speechless and crying, driving 15 over the speed limit to get them to the lake house, continuously glancing in the rearview mirror to check that Tony was really there. 

Pepper, who had been so strong during it all, falling to her knees on the porch of the lake house. Tony sweeping her into his arms, the two of them kissing and touching each other’s faces in disbelief. 

And Morgan—Morgan, best of all, grumpily meandering outside, rubbing sleep from her eyes, seeing Tony and screaming. When she jumped into his embrace, she almost bowled him over. 

The chaos went on for hours as Rhodey and more of the Avengers arrived. Peter knew that grief was coming for them all soon, but for this one night, this first night, it was easiest to focus on the miracle of Tony’s return instead of Steve’s conspicuous absence. 

Clint passed out beers to everyone, including Peter and Harley, who shrugged and toasted along with everyone else. 

Peter was starting to feel overwhelmed and panicky after a while, however. It was too much noise, too many people. He knew it was selfish, but he wanted the Avengers to go away. He even wanted Happy to leave. And then he wanted Pepper to put on a movie, and for their little family to curl up on the couches until they all fell asleep. Just him, Tony, Pepper, Morgan, and Harley. 

So he was surprised but thankful when everyone abruptly stopped talking.

Morgan had laid her cheek against her father’s shoulder, half-asleep. Everyone quickly shut up when they realized she was quietly saying something over and over again. Peter was surprised to see that she had cracked her eyes open and was holding out her arm towards him.

“...Great Valley, Petey. It’s the Great Valley…” She mumbled, her eyes drifting closed again. 

Everyone looked questioningly at Peter, who shyly wrapped his arms around Tony and Morgan in an embrace. 

“Yeah, Morgie,” he whispered, knowing his voice would crack if he spoke the words out loud. “You’re right. It is.”

***

They held a memorial service for Steve about a month after Tony’s return. It was a simple affair, Avengers and family only. Peter was utterly grateful that he wasn’t in Pepper’s position right now, of having to explain to the media and the rest of the world that Tony was back from the dead and Steve Rogers was gone. 

But for now, they were in their own little bubble, celebrating their friend. After lunch, everyone stood in a circle near the lake and said a few words about Steve. 

“I’ll always remember how fast that damn icicle could run,” Sam Wilson said, shaking his head. “He...Steve taught me a lot about leadership. I’ll use his shield and I won’t let him down.”

“After my kids and Laura were gone during the snap,” Clint said, uncharacteristically sincere. “Steve sent me this big folder of sketches and drawings he’d done of my family over the years. There were so many memories right there, saved for me. It was the first time I was able to smile after the blip happened.”

When it was Peter’s turn, he wiped sweaty palms against his jeans, leaning slightly closer towards May, who was standing at his side. 

“Steve was there for me when Mr. Stark couldn’t be,” he said softly. He felt Mr. Stark’s hand on his shoulder. “He...he didn’t have to be there, but he was. I’ll never forget that. He protected me until the very end.”

Then it was Mr. Stark’s turn, the last one in the long line of Steve’s friends and family. 

Next to Peter, Mr. Stark drew in a shaky breath. “Steve was my brother. We argued, we fought, we beat the shit out of each other, but at the end of the day, we had each other’s backs.”

It seemed weird for Steve not to be there, chastising Tony for swearing. 

“I owe him my life,” Mr. Stark said, his voice thick. Peter broke away from May and leaned into Tony’s side. Mr. Stark’s healthy arm was strong and warm as it wrapped around Peter’s shoulders. “I owe him everything.”

***

Bucky didn’t speak to anybody at the service, but he didn’t glare or show any kind of negative reaction when Peter tentatively approached him on the dock. 

“Sit, Spider-Man,” Bucky said, patting the spot next to him. 

“Oh—no, thank you, Sergeant Barnes,” Peter quickly replied. “I don’t want to bother you...I just wanted to say...that I’m really sorry for your loss.” _I'm sorry I got the love of your life killed so I could have my dad back._

“Thank you,” the former spy said. It was impossible to tell what Bucky Barnes was thinking or feeling. 

“You...you probably hate me. I don’t blame you if you do, really,” Peter babbled awkwardly. “But...I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. That my family got our happy ending and you didn’t.”

Bucky sighed. “You’re a good kid, Spider-Man. You’re a lot like Steve. A lot like Tony too, of course, but...a lot like Steve.”

“Thank you,” Peter said softly. He sat next to the other man on the edge of the dock, dangling his feet so that his feet almost brushed the water. 

Had it really only been a month since Steve and Bucky had sat just a few yards away from this same spot, the night of Morgan’s party?

They were quiet for a long moment. It was early May. In a month or two, it might be hot enough to go swimming. 

“I read this thing in a book once...” Peter started. He stopped to think about his next words. 

_Goodness will find you again. It always has. It will again,_ he wanted to say. But...he didn’t want it to sound like an empty platitude. And besides, he didn’t think that he’d lived enough life yet to know if it was a true promise; if good really did always return in the end.

“I hope goodness finds you again,” he settled on saying. And maybe the phrasing was odd, or maybe it was a pretentious thing to say, but it felt right. 

After all, _The Road_ was about a father and son, but he supposed that there were many different roads out there, with many different people walking down them, looking for safety, for warmth, for home. For happiness and family.

“Thank you, Spider-Man,” Bucky said in his usual quiet, formal way. “Remember to tuck your elbows when you punch.”

Peter nodded. Deep down, he somehow knew that none of them would ever see Bucky Barnes again after today. 

***

Tony found him sitting on the front porch steps that night, his arms wrapped around his knees. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” He asked, draping a blanket over Peter’s shoulders. Peter snuggled gratefully into the warmth. The days were warm, but it was still too cold at night for his spider DNA. 

“Didn’t even make it to bed yet,” Peter shrugged tiredly. He checked his watch and winced. 1:57 AM. “I’m fine, you should go to bed. I know Morgan will be waking you up at 7.”

“See, that’s the nice thing about being a professional stay-at-home dad. Mandatory naptime in the afternoons.”

“Just don’t call it that.”

“ _Right,_ ” Tony snorted. “I mean ‘highly suggested quiet time’ in the afternoons.”

Sleep was hard for all of them nowadays. It turned out that Tony’s return from the dead hadn’t magically solved everyone’s trauma. 

Harley had slipped back to Tennessee three days after Tony’s return, belatedly texting Peter to say that he was allergic to such high concentrations of happiness in one place. Peter had tried to convince Tony to let him borrow an Iron Man suit so he could fly out to visit Harley and make sure he was okay, but Tony had warned him to give Harley a little space. 

“You have to understand, Pete,” Tony had told him, “that Harley is exactly what I was like at that age. And you have to imagine that you’re Rhodey in this situation. Keep sending him memes, keep asking how he’s doing, but don’t try to press him on his feelings. Not for a few weeks, okay?”

And if Harley was dealing with his issues by emulating a brick wall, Peter and Morgan were coping by not sleeping. 

Or rather, it would be more accurate to say that Peter and Morgan were barely sleeping, and nobody was coping with it. 

In fact, Pepper was probably the only one who had slept more than five hours a night for the past month, and that was only because she was so busy with the post-blip relief efforts and the PR firestorm that was Tony’s return to the land of the living. 

Morgan kept waking up, terrified that Tony had disappeared in the middle of the night. She’d come and find Peter, who was either in the midst of his own nightmares, or still awake. The two of them would play card games or watch TV until one of them passed out, or until FRIDAY alerted Tony and he got up to tuck them both back into bed. 

Although Tony had come back with the stump of his missing arm looking clean and healed, there were clearly some long-term effects from the Gauntlet that Tony was still recovering from. He got tired much easier than usual nowadays, and Peter tried to avoid waking him up at night whenever possible.

On particularly bad nights, Morgan was afraid to even peek into her parents’ bedroom, frightened that Tony wouldn’t be in bed. Peter would carry some blankets over by Tony and Pepper’s doorway, and the two of them would curl up in a little nest together. Peter could hear Tony’s heartbeat even through the soundproofed door and walls, which he patiently reminded Morgan of every time she asked. 

So far, he’d managed to stay awake until she fell asleep and get them both back to their separate beds without Tony or Pepper noticing, but he was sure that it was only a matter of time before the two of them caught on. 

“You know, Pete,” Tony said, nudging Peter’s shoulder and jolting him from his thoughts. “I asked May, and she told me that you were the exact same way at that age. You came home from kindergarten claiming that you didn’t need naps anymore, but any time your aunt started playing the kids’ channel, you were out like a light.”

Peter blinked. “You asked May about my childhood?”

Mr. Stark smiled wistfully. “It was five years, Pete. A long five years. And I had Morgan, and she—she reminded me of you in so many strange little ways.”

There was a story there, Peter was sure of it. Something that he wasn’t sure he wanted to know about. He didn’t like to think of May and Tony mourning him, speaking of him in the past tense. 

“You okay, Underoos?” Mr. Stark asked, his face kind in the darkness.

Peter nodded. “Just...thinking about today. Steve’s memorial.” He swallowed. “What if—I guess—” He faltered. He’d been trying to ask this question for a month now, but it never came out like he wanted it to. 

“Take your time, kiddo,” Tony assured him, wrapping his good arm around Peter’s shoulders. The physical comfort was another thing that Tony had rarely done before the snap that he did all the time now. Peter was unable to stop himself from letting out a contented little sigh and scooting even closer. He didn’t think it would ever get old—Tony being here. Tony holding him, taking care of him. 

“Do you think...do you think I deserve this?”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific, bud. Deserve what?”

“Having you back. Being happy again.”

“Oh, Pete. Yes. You deserve to be happy.” 

“But Steve—”

“—made his own decision. Steve knew what he was doing.”

“I feel like it’s all my fault,” Peter whispered. 

“Well, you’ve had a tough go of it, kid. You’ve gotten used to losing people. But take it from someone who has a guilt complex to top all other guilt complexes—it was never your fault that your parents or Ben or I died.”

“I should probably talk to that therapist, huh?” Peter asked, stomach fluttering nervously. He’d been avoiding Mr. Stark’s increasingly direct suggestions that he start going to therapy all month, but he was tired of being sad. Tired of being tired. 

Mr. Stark’s tired face brightened. “I’ll come with you and sit in the waiting room, if you want. Or I’ll wait in the car, if you prefer that, and we can do whatever you want after the appointment. Ice cream, _Star Wars,_ punching bags—you name it, I’ll be there.”

“Thanks, Tony,” he murmured.

“Kid, if I knew dying was all it would take for you to finally start calling me ‘Tony’—”

“Don’t even finish that sentence,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “By the way, Morgan incoming.”

Sure enough, 30 seconds later, Morgan poked her head out the front door. “Can we have juice pops, Daddy?” She asked hopefully. 

“It’s two in the morning, Morguna.”

“That wasn’t a ‘no,’ Daddy,” Morgan observed cleverly. 

“She’s got you there,” Peter grinned cheerfully. “I want cherry, Momo!”

Tony sighed. “The two of you together—it’s not fair.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you adopted me as your second kid,” Peter joked before he could think twice about it. His chest tightened nervously. “I mean…”

“Let’s be honest, Pete,” Tony said, voice raw and honest. “I adopted you long before I had Morgan.”

“Yeah?” Peter asked, his heart in his throat. 

“Yeah,” Tony affirmed. “Now take advantage of this hug before I have to use my hand to hold my juice pop.”

Peter obediently laid his head on Tony’s shoulder, inhaling the comforting smell of aftershave and metal. Tony idly rubbed Peter’s upper arm until Morgan reappeared, juggling three juice pops. 

Morgan clambered gracelessly onto Peter’s lap, flinging her legs over Tony’s lap. 

“Geez, thanks, Little Miss,” Tony laughed. “What am I over here, chopped liver?”

“Yeah,” Morgan said, sticking her tongue out at him and passing him her orange juice pop so he could open it for her. 

“Cheers,” Peter said, holding his juice pop out so that Morgan could tap hers against it before they took their first lick. This was their usual juice pop-eating ritual.

Peter was startled when he looked up to see Tony looking at the two of them with tears in his eyes. 

“Are you crying, Daddy?” Morgan asked innocently. She wound one sticky hand around Peter’s neck. 

“Yeah,” Tony breathed. “But not because I’m sad. Because I’m so happy that you and Pete are here with me.”

“Oh,” Morgan nodded wisely. “I get it. You’re big happy. Me too.”

“Me three,” Peter chimed in softly. 

Tony stared at them for a moment longer, before he blinked rapidly and turned his gaze towards the sky, taking a deep breath. 

“Look,” he said after a moment, pointing up towards the stars. “It’s Orion. My favorite constellation; you remember, Morguna?”

Morgan nodded sleepily. “I remember, Daddy,” she mumbled, leaning her head against Peter’s shoulder.

Peter looked up at the sky, finding Orion. Tony yawned next to him and the first summer crickets chirped slowly. For the first time since the blip, Peter didn’t fear the stars.

**Author's Note:**

> If you're here to find out who dies, it's Steve. :( 
> 
> If you're here because you finished the fic, I'd love to know what you thought! I know most of us avoid actually killing people off in fic, but I really wanted Peter to have to wrestle with the morality of bringing somebody back from the dead and making a sacrifice to do so. 
> 
> I know I didn't really address the aftermath of Tony's return much, but I'm thinking about writing a sequel from Tony's perspective. Unless everyone hates me for killing Steve, in which case I'll probably let this fic be a standalone lol.


End file.
